Pull up a chair! Get yourself a drink. I am now going to tell you about the awkward state that I live in!
First off: I am not clinically depressed.
Just getting that out of the way. I have been asked by friends, family, and so fucking many social workers, if that was indeed the case. In Toronto, they even offered me anti-depressants!
I really do understand why everyone asks: I went from being totally able bodied to not. I cannot play drums how I used to; how I did for over twenty years. This was all to be taken in pretty well in one conversation after I woke up.
Did I cry? For about a month straight. Maybe even a little longer.
It would be like waking up and you are told “WELL SHIT! Everything is different and we assumed you were dead.”
Oh wait: It was exactly that.
I digress. My mood is dandy. Is everything fantastic? Fuck no. I have some of my friends still. I have my family. I still have music. Though it is NO WHERE near where it used to be, I even still have drums.
I have destroyed every expectation of what every professional assumed that I would have. I know that sounds a bit exaggerated, and it kind of is, but it really is not. As I have stated in this blog, as well as past updates, I was going to die. It was not an assumption, it was a fact that everyone had to deal with. Then, life support was pulled, and I did not die. I was “never going to be able to breath, speak, or eat” on my own. I now do all three. They were going to surgically open my stomach to put in a tube so I could eat. We said no. A month later, the surgery would have been taking things too far.
So, am I still sad? Of course. How can that be, considering how much I have accomplished compared to what I should have accomplished? Simple.
I am twenty six. I am finally going to school, which was more than I would have done assuming the last year and a bit never happened. I am forced to, not only live on residence, but have a PSW (personal support worker) come and assist me doing mundane things. I get tired doing very little. I, after seven years of having one, do not have a licence. I mean, the though of me driving a car right now is hilarious:
“Stop signs!!?? OH NOOOOOOOOO…”
I know these seem like juvenile things to dwell on, but as it stands now, I will never be able to live the “normal” life that I once dreamed of. I cannot go out to Toronto to see the most important person I have ever known whenever I want to. I cannot go back to work where I have for seven years because the building is fifty plus years old and the everything is not even pretending to be accessible.
Even making a coffee then taking said coffee to a window to watch the rain come down is very difficult and results in me burning my lap and probably doing damage to the new nerves I have in that place.
I bitch, but hey: At least I’m not dead, right?
OH SHIT! I ALMOST FORGOT THE MOST IMPORTANT PART!
I have been asked many times over and over how my humour is. I usually reply with “bleaker than ever.” I also respond at times with “blacker than before” and “you tell me.”
I will now poise it as a question directed towards you: How is my humour?