I originally drafted this blog September of 2009.
Most of you who are familiar with my MySpace blogs know that September and I don't get along well. I never published it because as much as I sound determined in this draft... well...the end results are I never went back. I am in the dark, I have made excuses. I am human, don't judge me. I'm publishing this hoping that putting it out there in black and white for people to see may encourage me to make the time that I need for me.
I've been sent back in time six years. I've stood in front of people and shared how it felt that day. Sometimes I can remember exact details, sometimes I can feel the exact same way I did and other times I've blocked it out.
Yesterday, my doctor and I discussed my labs. In June, my T-cell count was 698. Dr. K expressed concern that I had contracted Hepatitis C. In August, tests were run and it was discovered that I don't have HepC; however my T-cells have dropped to 480.
My mind flashes back to a hospital visit where Dr. V stormed in my hospital room after I had been there for three days and wanted to quarantine me for tuberculosis. Once it was determined that I didn't have it, he insisted I be put on medication. I was to take Kaletra and Combivir twice a day. Three Kaletras and two Combivir's if I remember correctly... that's ten pills a day folks. Each time I swallowed a pill, I was reminded of what I almost did to my child, of what I did to my family, of that night, of what a low point I had reached in my life when I made the decision to sleep with him... I was reminded and drowned in sorrow each and every time.
And don't misunderstand, I've never liked swallowing pills. I don't like being reminded of illness or sickness or putting my health at the stake of a bunch of chemicals in a tablet form. Hell, who does? And the bigger they are, the more I abhor it, the more it makes my sorrow grow. It's just a constant reminder that something's not right, that I'm not complete and I need this pill to survive.
Anyway, he's ordered more blood work in 12 weeks.
Now please understand this, I have a significant way of praying over situations and once I'm passed my anger/pity party/f*** the world phase I will resume to that state.
Right now. I'm mad. I'm sad. And dammit, I'm letting my wall down. When you have people around you all the time telling you how strong you are, how you inspire them and how people need to hear your story over and over again, you begin to create this bubble around yourself. Not an untouchable bubble but one where you get so caught up in helping everyone else, you forget to know how to deal with issues of your own. The people one would think that I'd reach out to, I don't want to. I don't want to be asked a lot of questions, I simply want to cry and borrow a shoulder for a minute. That's all. I want someone to hug ME and tell ME that everything is going to be alright. I want it to be ok to be this "powerful", "inspirational", "empowering" person that everyone sees to be allowed to be afraid, uncomfortable and weak right now. Just temporarily. Give me that.
I know I'm going to be ok, God's got too much work for me to do to NOT be ok. But I'm simply not feeling it right now and I want to be allowed that. So I'm in my funk, I'm in my quiet mode and I'm ok with it.