resolution

Most of yesterday it felt like I was losing the ground beneath my feet. Felt so sorry for myself and so ready to go into this long whining misery about how awful it is to be so ill and turning my mind around and around this thought, faster and faster until I am sucked into this so deep that there is no other thought left in my head.

I could really make this into an artform. I could. I could really groom this into a shiny big thing, build and polish a throne for a disease that came uninvited. So why do I treat it like a special guest?

I watch out for its slightest signs, every aspect of it gets VIP treatment. As if I am ill first and myself second.  

Obviously, I cannot ignore it with symptoms like sledge hammers but somewhere in this I am still me. Call it autonomy, spirit, soul or whatever. Right now, it feels very small, impossible even.

In theory, I feel strongly that any health crisis can be understood either as a sign from the body to become aware of certain aspects in life and to find new ways of dealing with them, or, in case of limitations that cannot be changed, as a challenge to discover new ways to accept these limitations and to revalue what is left of my health. Concentrating not on my illhealth and symptoms, my vulnerability, but instead on my personal strengths. Where are they? I do have some left.

I do. 

I do. 

I do. 

I do. 

I do.

In theory, of course. There is a way to go still.