Breathing denial

I'm irritable and I'm tired.
The two go hand-in-hand.
"Wearied" is probably a better description than "tired."

I'm tired of the continual battle for my body and mind to function "normally."

I'm tired of not being able to set long-term goals.
Well, I could set them.
But then I set myself up for disappointment and feelings of failure.
Not a healthy place for me.
So I set short-term goals of daily simple tasks that most would not think of as "goals."

I'm tired of living in this incessant hamster wheel.
Yet reminding myself to be thankful for all the good I have.

I'm tired of my home being in disarray.
Of not being able to organize so very much that needs attention.
Of not being able to do household chores.
Of not... on and on.

My tired-of list could go on.
It's a lengthy one.
All those tireds added together equal weary.

Why do I find it so hard to accept my disability?
I know why, at least some of the reasons.
One of the biggest is probably just plain, old denial.

~*~

I hang on with a thread of hope that someday I can backpack again.

I envision the trail.
I feel the struggle to hike with forty pounds on my back, a good struggle, a struggle with reward at the end.
The reward of accomplishment.
I set up my tent and make my supper.
I hang my food bag in a limb high enough to be away from bears.
I sit, a lone human on a log, and think about the eyes that see me, eyes of forest critters.

And then I remind myself,

There's no way you'll ever be able to backpack again. Right now you envision that hope because you feel relief from your epidural. Because you are comfortable, at the moment, driving, nestled within the Blue Ridge Mountains. But you know damn well this relief is temporary. You know what awaits as the relief subsides. Even with the current relief, the reality of your disability will be evident today once you stop and get out of the vehicle.

And then I remember the eighteen years I suffered with severe asthma.
The years I suffered with sinus polyps and complete blockage; literally.
I could not breathe through my nose, for years.
And I had no sense of smell for over a decade.
There were lots of other symptoms too, which subsided in the following years after the asthma and polyps retreated.

And I tell myself,

In those days you envisioned yourself as a deer, able to run. Envisioning, even as you wheezed, gasping for air. And, eventually, you got well from all those symptoms. Some might say it's a miracle that you gained wellness. Not to mention that you were able to get your high levels of mercury down and able to get off long-term steroids. 

But it wasn't a miracle.
It was hard damn work, involving study, various medical and wellness approaches, soul searching, lots of journaling, endurance, science, a good integrative medical doctor, and more.

And I say to myself,

But you had youth on your side then. You got sick at 22. You were 39 when you suffered your last series of asthma attacks and your last hospitalization for asthma. You're now less than 2 years shy of 60. And you've added lots of wear and tear in the last seven years, probably accelerating the aging process. 

And I counter with,

When you got your high mercury levels down, the asthma abated. Maybe, maybe as you get your cobalt and chromium levels down, nerve damage will abate. But it will probably take years to gain back the muscle you've lost, if you can regain it. You don't have youth on your side now. 

~*~

Yes, there is denial.
Along with a dose of hopeful reality.

I'll probably breathe denial until my last breath, when I'll exhale the hopeful reality.

I wonder,

Is one's last breath an inhale, or an exhale?