‘No try. Only do.’
Do; do; do. As Americans (but increasingly I’m seeing it in other societies as well), we’ve grown up believing that only when we are ‘doing’ are we of any value.
And as a sufferer of post-traumatic stress disorder, I have spent my life trying to ‘do’; trying to prove I was smart enough, holy enough, attractive enough, kind enough, hard-working enough, rich enough, poor enough, able enough, disabled enough. But whatever I did was never enough. Even if the governing agency/family member/ doctor/counsellor/priest/bishop/professor thought I’d done enough, I never felt I’d done enough. Always more to do! Never enough! I’ve never felt ‘enough.’
Even my last blog: I shared my wisdoms with you because, once again (but unmindful of my motivation), I was trying to prove myself, prove to you the wisdom of my choices, past and present. I wanted you to see that things really and truly do work out perfectly and at exactly the right moment. I wanted you to know I’m happy. Joyful, even! As someone who cares for me, you desire this, right? ‘This blog is a really cool way to tell you I’m doing great!’ I thought.
Yet no one believes me. I’ve been blown away by the reactions to my last blog. Perhaps it was cryptic, but that’s only because you haven’t realized those truths for yourself yet. (Look how long it took me!)
Perhaps it’s that you, too, are trapped in a ‘do-do’ world. Your frustrations come from not being able to ‘do’ anything for me. Oh, my beloved one, your unfailing love and emotional support over the years is more precious than you can ever imagine. It’s been the kind of love that has wrought miracle after miracle in my life. How can you possibly think you haven’t/can’t ‘do’ enough to help me? In fact, the kind of help you give (through your love and support) can be given from anywhere in the world. The miracles of Skype and such can help me to see your dear faces, but there’s not an app in the world that can generate the love I have from you, and vice-versa.
So many of you still wonder why I’m in Ireland. I’m not sure what you think I’m doing over here, but I can assure you that I am fighting still for my invalidity pension. I’m fighting for the disability allowance. I’m on pain medication (maybe this is why I feel euphoric?!) and can walk without my cane or walker. I started a statin for the cholesterol. I’m on the angiogram waiting list, and I may be able to get into a clinical trial for those who have Hyperlipidemia Type IIa. Next week I’m getting a biopsy of the breast lump. I’ve got my first appointment with a PTSD counsellor tomorrow. I got blood results back today, and my haemoglobin is over 13 — for the first time in ten years. (This means the B12 issue is improving.) Ireland is a good place for me to be. My body likes being here because it seems to work better. And did I mention it’s FREE? (Portland was great, too, but it’s too expensive to live there.)
If you’ve sent money, thank you. I am now warm enough (at last!). I can now afford to drive to the places I need to go for these treatments. Nearly all the services are at least half an hour’s drive from here and many are not accessible by bus.
You see, I’ve taken my own advice, the wisdom I shared with you in my last blog. Despite the reactions I’ve had to medications in the past, I’m taking them. Despite my aversion to drugs and my abhorrence of surgical procedures, I’m going to undergo them. I will not let past experiences or future fears make my decisions. I’m in Ireland and these health services are available for FREE (or nearly free.) And, I remind myself, I can’t make a wrong decision, especially if I’m in the right place.
Would any of you be able to do a breast biopsy or an angiogram? Of course not. I don’t need you for that, though. And I have Irish friends who check on me all the time. I’m having a ball in Fintown, taking Irish lessons, learning to play the tin whistle and accordion, attending local events, and just enjoying life. I have a huge house with no stairs, so I get around just fine. I love fixing it up. I’ve got a compost heap out the back for the garden I hope to tend.
How frustrating that people don’t believe me, but then again, I have no control over how people are going to react to what I say or write. You’d have to see me to believe me, I guess. (And that’s where the irony of the situation comes in, eh?) After this blog, I refuse to try to prove myself again to you. (Well, I’ll try!)
I just want you to know that your doing ‘nothing’ but loving me is why I’m so damn happy. It’s why, over the past several years, I’ve said I feel like the wealthiest woman in the world even when I had only a dollar in the bank. Surely no one is loved as much as I am. You couldn’t do more for me if you had a million dollars. No, really!
I would have loved to personally email each of you who responded to my last blog, but I don’t want to spend all my time on the computer! None of us know when our end will be, but I hope mine comes when I’m either sharing time with you in my home, or out enjoyin’ meself.
Whether you believe I’m joyful or not is out of my control. I shall stop trying to convince you. Please keep my last blog (and maybe this one, too) handy. Someday, it won’t seem cryptic at all. You’ll understand that my words are the greatest gift I know how to give; they are symbols of my love for you. I’m trying to put into words things that cannot be described and that exist outside of the physical realm. There is no ‘try’; there is no ‘do’; there is only BE.
Take that, Yoda!