Humble Pie

I can walk.

I must remember this, or I am an asshole. No matter how bad things may get (and they're not bad at all right now, just a little "blah"), I can walk.

Today was the first day in a long time that I thought about this, and remembered how good it is to simply be able to use my legs again. It's funny how I'll bemoan the little things, like feeling out of shape, or not as "buff" as I used to be (which is not very). Then I remember that the primary reason for the temporary buffness was a lot of pushing myself in and out of, and around in, a wheelchair, and I realize that I'm a lot better off now.

It seems so distant, and so matter of course, though it was such a strange thing to have happen. I still remember week two and the metallic taste in my mouth, every time I pushed myself up out of the chair, that came with the twinge of pain from oversore shoulders. I remember yawning and stretching at week seven and feeling the ache in muscles I never knew were there. I remember how terribly sore my ass was from sitting down for two months straight. I remember the odd fever dreams of those first few days, waking up at night in terror and having the dreams keep on going, even though I knew I was no longer asleep.

I remember these things, and the stares, and the people who were eager to help (not a one of them white-- oh how I mourn for our culture), and the friends who stood by me, and were there when I needed them. Oddly, what I don't remember so much is the one that was supposed to be there the most-- the one that was not at all. I don't remember the loneliness, and I don't remember crying, though I'm sure I did. I remember the decision to let go-- made one morning out of desperation while sitting in the shower and letting the water run over my head. I remember how little it seemed to mean to her at the time, and how much it came to mean, when I finally had to move and change my phone number and e-mail address just to get away...

...best decision I ever made.