Friday, 23 October 2015

Too Much To Write About

It's funny how yesterday I couldn't imagine what I wanted to say, and today I have so many things I could share. It's not that the days are any different; it's that I am different. I, like everyone else, have my up days and my down days. Today it's up. I don't feel any less or more alive, nor am I particularly elated or enthused. I am just reminded of all I have, of all I can do, of all I can be. I am feeling like I have something to say today.

When I get into these places where I feel morose, it's not always a pity thing. Lots of times I just feel empty, there there is nothing left of me, as if my mind was conceding defeat in the battle for living. On those days where I am still in struggle, where I am still working hard to enjoy the moment, I do my best to stay upbeat. It can be a very difficult thing. Some days it works; other days it does not. I'm not very different from anyone else out there. I just keep going.

There are times when I get angry at what ALS is doing to me. I try to remember that I still have a choice, that I still get to live my life. I remind myself that I've had a pretty good run at things, the kind of life people write books about. I remind myself that I am over 60 years old; my Dad's Dad died at 63. My Uncle Peter died in his late 40's. My friend Bert was murdered at age 22. I remind myself that there are many people, much younger than me, fighting terrible illness; cancer, ALS, neurological disorders, physical disorders. The fact that I have ALS simply means I have a pretty good idea what will kill me and when. That's all.

I often say that dying is easy; it's the living that's hard. In fact that is what makes it interesting, that it is not easy. If living was easy, it would be boring. I get to choose. I get to live some more. I maintain my power of decision. I have some, at least a modest amount, of say over my life. It may be hard living with ALS, but it beats the hell out of dying from it. I need to remind myself, on those days when I feel in a fog, that the light is there for me. All I need to do is switch it on. Some days I find the switch. Some days I don't. But it's always there somewhere.

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