On the Right Track
Writing is hard, harder than usual.
Most of the time, my mind composes lines of poetry and
creates fragments of stories no matter what else is happening around me. I carry a small notepad and a pencil everywhere
I go, to capture thoughts, observations, conversations and
phrases. At home, notebooks and pens lie
scattered, ready for words. Most of the time, my mind flows with writing.
But writing is harder than usual because I’ve been ill, had
surgery, radiation and an accompanying depression. These new and nasty experiences are behind me
now. Yet they remain close enough to
influence how well my mind works.
This “how well” part isn’t working so well. I loathe feeling so slow and so stupid, like
swimming blind through a river of slush. My clarity is
improving but at the pace of an icicle melting in winter. I attempt to write each day; the output comes in drips.
To journey through recovery is to wander in a fog of
weariness where thoughts and images flicker at a distance, indistinct and
muffled. I reach for them and they
retreat. I can’t bring them to the
page. Some days the fog smothers my way and I
am lost. I can’t write a thing.
I’m told this is normal.
Gosh! It's not comforting. I’m finished
my treatments, done with the meds and I want to be well. What my mind wants doesn’t matter; what my
body wants does.
I am weary. I
rest. I sleep. I am awake and energetic in short bursts,
then I am weary again. Am I improving? Yes.
Are there longer periods of energy?
Yes. Will I return to
myself? Yes…eventually. I am on the right track.
I am grateful for early diagnosis, for medical care, for
survival. I am thankful for moments when
mind-fuddle clears, when I can write, when I glimpse feeling at home within
myself.
But, I’ll be delighted as a four-year old in new rubber
boots on the first puddle-filled day of spring when my mind sheds this fog and
this weariness.
Until I can embrace my writing with all of myself, with every bit of myself...until then, I am on the right track...frustration on one side and patience on the other.
Words and photo are copyright © Carol Steel.
