The In-Between

Hel­lo, blank page.

I know, it’s been awhile.
I have both des­per­ate­ly craved and strict­ly avoid­ed you, know­ing I need­ed to write and ter­ri­fied of what may come out.

What if it’s all the same? What do I do if I come here to write only to acknowl­edge that noth­ing has changed at all?

What hap­pens then?

Fall used to mean new shoes and pen­cils and shiny, hap­py students.
Some­how it has mor­phed into sur­prise surg­eries, nev­er end­ing GI treat­ments, and heart-lurch­ing loneliness…and every year, it sur­pris­es me.

What if the world knew that while there are peo­ple frol­ick­ing through apple orchards in flan­nel shirts and hap­pi­ly gulp­ing down pump­kin-spice-every­thing with wild aban­don, all I can think is “please please let’s just get this over with before some­thing else breaks?”

What if they knew that every year is hard­er, not eas­i­er, and that with every year of last­ing per­ma­nence, it becomes more dif­fi­cult and bit­ter to swallow?

And why, why, WHY for the love of cin­na­mon buns and ponies, can’t I just get over it?

It’s embar­rass­ing.

Every year as the march towards Sep­tem­ber sol­diers on, the dread set­tles upon me like a lead blan­ket. I am unable to hold my gen­er­al­ly emo­tion­al­ly-sta­ble self togeth­er. I don’t even know this per­son, and I cer­tain­ly don’t like her.

What if peo­ple knew? What would they think of me?

What if they knew that when they ask how I am and I say that I’m okay, I real­ly mean that I’m not real­ly good, but I’m cer­tain­ly not bad and I’m just stuck, for­ev­er stuck, in the in-between of “just okay?”

What if I am always here? In this place where some days I can’t get off the couch and oth­er days I go for a walk in the sun­shine, and some days I am stuck in the bath­room and oth­ers I read a book and mirac­u­lous­ly remem­ber it, and most days I hold myself togeth­er just long enough to get to every item on the cal­en­dar before I fall apart into a heap.

What if…that’s it?

What if being okay is all there is for me?

Can I be hap­py in the okay? Can I be con­tent to just keep swim­ming and hold my head above water?
Is being just okay…okay?

Hav­ing an invis­i­ble chron­ic ill­ness is like liv­ing your life per­ma­nent­ly on the side­lines. You look fine, you act fine, you gen­er­al­ly show up to nor­mal life-in-your-30’s events, but thats’s all — you’re just kin­da there. You have lit­tle to talk about, not much to con­tribute, no race to run — or at the very least, that’s what it feels like.

It’s like being benched at the game you have wait­ed your whole life to play.

For six long years I have swum upstream against the ever-chang­ing cur­rent of the in-between, try­ing des­per­ate­ly to get around the riv­er bend.

(Note to self: just how DID Poc­a­hon­tas do it?)

I have watched the world con­tin­ue to turn around me, as I remain in one place, one foot stuck in the mud as every­one goes about their lives.

The doors shut, the cars dri­ve away, the bus rum­bles down the street, and then…nothing. The stark, slap you in the face, deaf­en­ing silence.
Noth­ing screams loud­er than silence.

What if peo­ple knew that I both need and am pet­ri­fied of silence?
When it is silent, there is noth­ing to crowd out the blar­ing cacoph­o­ny of my mind.

In August, Mr. Restart­ingMy­Hard­Drive and I wel­comed our first puppy.
(Yes you read that right. The same pup­py I have been work­ing on for all ELEVEN years of our relationship…and they say New Eng­lan­ders are the stub­born ones.)

Alfie is a ball of fluffy hap­pi­ness, and the most loy­al and con­stant­ly exu­ber­ant com­pan­ion. He gets me out of the house and into the world, and is the very best lit­tle fur-child (even when he is chew­ing on the wall…and my shoes…and the file cab­i­net…). He is exhaust­ing and won­der­ful and makes us laugh every day.

So…why do I still feel…behind?
Can I be both intense­ly grate­ful for the incred­i­ble gifts of my life, and at the same time…just okay?

(No but real­ly, he will stop chew­ing someday…right?)

It feels so com­pli­cat­ed to be simul­ta­ne­ous­ly the per­son who shoves iPhone pho­tos of her dog in peo­ples’ faces with­out them ask­ing (sor­rynot­sor­ry) and the per­son who eats lunch alone every­day, read­ing a cook­ing mag­a­zine propped up on a cook­book stand to fill the emp­ty void.

Am I just one big paradox?

Moti­vat­ed but distracted.
Rest­less but exhausted.
Togeth­er but alone.
Head in the stars, but feet stuck in the mud.

You can see now, semi-blank page, why I’ve stayed away.
I have so many ques­tions, and so few answers.

Maybe.

Do you think my lack of answers, is the answer?
Is it that I just need to keep ask­ing these ques­tions, and swim­ming swim­ming swim­ming in search of more than “just okay?”
Aren’t I far too much of a dream­er to believe that this is it, that I just stay here in the same spot and let every­thing pass me by?

And fur­ther­more, don’t I get to choose?
Is this all a grand invi­ta­tion from the uni­verse to face down my demons and dig deep­er and allow the next phase of my life to show up?

What if I put it out there into the uni­verse that I’m ready for a change??
What would happen?

I know…I KNOW.
The relent­less mon­key chat­ter of my mind has exten­sive opin­ions on the matter.
But this choice is mine, and does not belong to those mon­keys. I owe noth­ing to the monkeys.
Aren’t I wast­ing the gift of life if I believe and accept that “just okay” is it?

I am not will­ing to wave the white flag.
I am not will­ing to for­ev­er and ever be “just okay.”

I know…I think I’ve always known. It just feels awful­ly bare and vul­ner­a­ble out there in the open.

It may be days and it may be years and it may take many more pump­kin-spice themed Octo­bers of deaf­en­ing silence.
But when the time is right, I will be here on the side­lines. I will be ready.

In the mean­time, I guess I’ll keep swimming.