How do I feel?

How do I feel?

I don't feel like writing, but I write anyway.

I feel disappointed with myself. Why?

I set standards too high for what I am capable of. I still catch myself setting goals from a perspective of … well … a whole person, the old me that had health and energy.

Or is that perspective of "the old me" just a fantasy?

Part is, part isn't. Most of my entire adult life has been chronic illness, starting from when I got sick at age 22, four years after joining The Way.

But that was my first chronic illness life. It lasted from 1981 through 2005ish. Through the last ten years of that time, I entered a realm of gradually allowing myself to think outside The Way bubble.

But I really didn't think I'd ever be completely allergy and asthma and hive and polyp and fatigue and pain free. But it happened. It happened as I kept moving forward and following where, mostly subtle, signals led me.

What signals?

Happenstances that would present themselves.
Choosing books at Borders, intuitively.
Daring to try health approaches outside what The Way would consider safe, like hypnotism and energy medicine.

In 1997, I began journaling and things began to leak, then flow, then flood. What things?

Can I not come up with a more descript word than "things?" How about "stuff?"

With journaling, things and stuff began quivering, undulating, coming to life in my emotions and psyche. Unknown to me at the time was its profound effect on my soma, my body.

With journaling, my landscape changed. I was on the move, gradually at first, slowly gaining momentum until I emerged into a vast landscape filled with variety and options, an abundance of paths.

Yet I really didn't think I'd ever be well, able to live without inhalers, allergy-free diets, needles, lots of supplements, medications, experimental treatments. The list goes on.

But I was wrong. I got well. Beginning in 1999, I virtually had no more asthma, no more sinus polypectomies. A few years later, no more hives. Then less fatigue, less brain fog, more energy. Eventually, no more pain. Even my depression and anxiety eased.

And then, in 2011, it all changed again.

Knapp.
Oral terbinafine; aka generic Lamisil.
A defective hip implant leaching cobalt and chromium.

It was a perfect storm which left me numb, lumpy, weak, inflamed, fatigued, almost paralyzed at times.

And here I am, seven years later.

And this time, I really don't think I'll ever be as well as I became after my first chronic illness life.

The main reason I think this?

Age.

I'll be 60 next year, so I don't have whatever it is that youth provides. Why is that?

And is it really true? Or how true is it? How much does regeneration of health depend on youth? Young blood? Young hormones? Young tissue?

My oversetting of goals, it's a continual balancing act. Even if I had my health, I'd be in the same predicament. I'd just set more goals with higher standards.

I wonder if I can change that about me? If not, at least I recognize it and can perhaps learn to manage it better. At least become more adept and aware when it's happening.