November 25, 2018
I know that progress won’t come upon me in massive waves like I want it too. Even after my enormous success in beginning to walk last week, I find that I still can’t do as much as I thought I would. It snowed for the first time of the season yesterday, and I thought I would be okay to walk out to the car with my mom. My gimp became my literal downfall. I now see that there is an art to walking on the snow and that if the weight isn’t evenly distributed in every step, you’ll spin out like you do on a banana in Mario Kart™. Well, I spun out and crashed, and it feels like I went 100 steps back to my one step forward in an instant. I feel like I’m on house arrest with how my mother is treating me, but I know it’s good for my recovery. She went on a rampage of research to try and find something to help with the pain because I still find myself on the verge of tears with certain movements. The pills only help so much, and I can only take so many in a short time without the possibility of overdose. My doctor warns me to minimize dosages as much as I can to prevent addiction. He’s a good doctor. Mom found this thing called a weighted blanket that said it helps recovery and puts you into a better rest cycle if you sleep with it on you. I’m not sure about it, but I will give anything a shot right now. I don’t know if the pain is worse now, or when I first broke my leg.
Since I started looking back at my past with the accident I realized I haven’t thought much on my childhood for quite a while. It’s not like I had anything dark or traumatic happen. I mean my birth father died when I was young. I don’t really remember when it happened because I think I was only two or three at the time. Growing up with just a mother as a child taught me a lot that I can see may benefit me now. All of the other boys in my neighborhood were taught activities that a real boy would do like play sports, go around in a bike gang with the other boys, and anything that might make their progress towards manhood easier. I’m not going to say that I was the complete opposite and did ballet, played with dolls, or tried on make-up, but my mother raised me differently from those boys. She taught me to cook, and I loved to help her when I was a kid, maybe I should try to do that to connect with her again. She also taught me how to keep the house clean and respectable. Most parents teach these as chores, but my mother made me realize the importance of keeping a clean house. Back then you never knew when a friend or relative might come over to visit you. Now you have to schedule visits like meetings and guess what, no one really wants to meet with you anymore. I think this is in part due to the supposed connection the internet creates in our minds. Like, damn I already saw that you got a new cat on Facebook, I don’t need you to tell me again in person.
A SL and PoS post.