What they don’t tell you when you are working hard for a goal is about the exhaustion that comes with it. My goal is to keep pushing myself through recovery so that I can get back as close as possible to how I used to be. I don’t want to give up. Why can’t it be like in the Olympics where you see a 10 minute video showing the behind the scenes footage that pumps you up just enough to know that the preparation made it all worth it? I want my 10-minute video now, so that I can see the outcome.
This is easily the hardest experience I’ve ever had and I’m tired of having it. It is a tiredness that nothing can cure. It just needs to be gone through to get to the other side.
I am exhausted, yet told to keep going. Not just by other people, but by myself as well. It is some sort of drive inside of me that keeps pushing me as though I have no choice.
I am not experiencing the same exhaustion I felt pre- “Life explosion,” which is what I call it. This is the exhaustion that comes from having to think about every step I take.
Every. Single. Step.
This is the exhaustion that comes from being required to use complex executive functioning skills that I had earlier been able to just use.
This is the exhaustion that comes from retaining enough cognitive skills that you are acutely aware of every struggle you now have that you didn’t use to have.
This is the exhaustion that comes from wanting to be over the experience.
This is the exhaustion that comes from working hard to accept that you are making progress, while at the same time wanting to apologize for every unclear sentence, quick response, or inability to be confident in reading the feelings of others.
This is the exhaustion that comes from muscles spasming out and there isn’t anything you can do to control it, and you KNOW it makes others feel uncomfortable because it makes you uncomfortable. Because you know it is ugly.
This is the exhaustion that comes from choosing to live with other people in the world.
“In my own worst seasons I’ve come back from the colorless world of despair by forcing myself to look hard, for a long time, at a single glorious thing: a flame of red geranium outside my bedroom window. And then another: my daughter in a yellow dress. And another: the perfect outline of a full, dark sphere behind the crescent moon. Until I learned to be in love with my life again. Like a stroke victim retraining new parts of the brain to grasp lost skills, I have taught myself joy, over and over again.” –Barbara Kingsolver, Author