Finally.
I'm back to work.
The physical therapy is helping.
And no more prescription pain meds are necessary.
I won't go into the sordid details of how I quit those pain meds cold turkey and suffered horrendous withdrawals because honestly, I lived through it and I'm still trying to process it. I learned a lot about myself during the whole thing, and I realized that sometimes when you think you're in control, you're really not.
Anyway.
I'm slowly, slowly getting back to my old routine. I'm not at 100% yet, but I'd say I'm at about 80% and that is far and above where I was two weeks ago.
It's been rather odd, like the last two months were a nightmare, like who I was then wasn't
really me.
Now it's time to find that person again.
Time to find my joy of writing, my love of studying World War II, my delight in autumn's cooler temps and gorgeous colors, my zest for reading and finding new authors, my devotion to living a full life and enjoying and embracing all that it has to offer.
All of it got lost in the shuffle. My brain is still recovering and trying to put the pieces of the last 2 1/2 months back together.
When you've lost yourself for awhile, the process of rediscovery can be a bit painful. Mistakes made must be confronted. Lessons must be learned, no matter how hard. All of it is necessary to emerge a better, healthier person on the other side.
But it is also a slow process. I don't have any grand plans to finish my novel within the next week, or to start exercising again beyond taking my walks, or the determination to lose the weight I gained while being sick. There's no energy or motivation for that yet. What I am doing is taking it one day at a time.
After all, that's how we became who we are, right? One day at a time. And thus, I will rediscover who I am, one day at a time.
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