More or less
During the first weeks of my recovery from my recent medical adventures, I thought I was definitely going to write more and most likely about the process of healing. As so often with ideas we have, it did not go as planned. Almost immediately the well seemed to dry out. Absolutely without ideas I stare at a blinking prompt on an empty white screen. Not even a title comes to mind. And it’s not that there is nothing that I care enough about to write about. On the contrary: there is the way we pollute our environment, the broken by design economic regime that we live under, the failing systems of human support, the lack of love going around and so on. But… There are already so many people writing about those things that I think my efforts will be redundant and useless.
Also, I strongly feel that the world – or my world – needs more positive writing. Writing aimed at change rather than more words that point out the current status quo. Anybody who does not have his head up their arse should already have a pretty good idea of how messed up the world is. Or maybe it isn’t? Maybe it is just the way we are being programmed and manipulated to see our part of the world versus not our part of the world. The messy shit versus the options that may be harvested from the messy shit.
Anyway; it is not what I want to write about. The time that I thought trying to wake up people would do our world is definitely over. Finally. Let others, who are more equipped than I take that stick and throw it into the hen pen. In my personal life there is much more at stake than the willful ignorance of my fellow man.
Hardness and strength
Or maybe I should be writing about what it means to lose almost fifteen kilograms of body mass, live with heavy painkillers but still feel pain, recovering from that and the mental part of being a survivor? And what it does to the relationships with the people around me? That I feel a different person – yet still the same – and how my life is changing as I am getting stronger each and every day?
After officially becoming part of that scary group of cancer survivors, I should feel blessed and stronger than ever. At least that is what I understand from from the army of positivity gurus and fellow survivors filling their blogs and vlogs with hopeful words. That dealing with such a nasty disease actually makes one whole again, because it has made finding purpose so much easier. Or could it be they simply write more about how they would want to live than that they actually live that life? And why do I bother? Short answer: because I don’t feel reborn and stronger than ever. Not yet anyway. Even though two weeks ago a good friend told me that it is a bit scary to see me look younger than I did before. In fact, now the Fentanyl (75 time stronger than morphine, mind you) is no longer ruling my brain and the euphoria has gone, there are days I feel lost.
My efforts to make a buck with photography in the music scene were already not having the results I was hoping for and after the past year it is safe to say I can put yet another that did not work item on my list. In fact, I even stopped searching for opportunities in that field, given that any expenses will most likely be without ROI anyway. It will take several more months to feel fit enough to be on my feet and knees for several hours and get the quality shots that I want.
Hey, I am fully aware that my mindset is part of the problematic equation and that my body is still recovering from what the therapies destroyed in order to get rid of the disease so maybe I’m being too hard on myself, but… What if I am not being hard enough? How does one measure strength?
[inhale] I am not the body – [exhale] I am not even the mind