Over these past few weeks my dream of becoming a writer/journalist has fallen into a sudden halt. Don’t worry! This is just a phase! Mentally and physically, my life has been moving in slow motion out of my control. Towards the end of September of this year, I had foot surgery — a failed foot surgery. Since then, I have been anxiously seeking out second opinions, contacting my insurance company, and considering a lawsuit. It has been about a month since the operation and I can’t recall making a significant accomplishment. There’s only so much one can do with a swollen foot, especially when it’s swollen for the wrong reasons. What used to take me less than a minute, now takes me at least five. Foot surgery is hell.
I have been feeling very turbulent – depressed to be exact. I wrote a poem (because that’s what I do when I’m emotional) describing my mixed up feelings about how I should manage my life. I just recently discovered that depression is a common side effect post-surgery, despite me having more than ten. I used to think the depression is caused by weaning off the pain killers. Either way, I concluded I’m depressed for 3 reasons: surgeon fucked up my feet, post-surgery side effect, and no more pain killers (which really made the world seem perfect amid chaos). Well, there are actually more factors involved than what’s stated. This situation causes me to be vulnerable, which adversely affects my executive functioning, which also affects my decision making. It’s a slippery slope I’m trying to get myself out of.
I don’t know what I want to do with my life anymore. I still want to move to NYC and pursue a writing career — my drive and positive attitude has just gone away. It’s my fault for not adequately planning ahead. I was supposed to take a mini vacation to New York City around this time, but instead, I’m hustling around figuring out how to pay my medical bills and finding a second job to make up for my leave of absence. Spending money while not making any is like constantly screaming “Mercy!” when no one can hear — almost reminds me of my financial issues at 16 years old. Maybe a deteriorating bank account is what’s causing the feeling. No money = depression, low drive, hopelessness, the “losing interest in things once enjoyed”?
A not-so-glamorous photo of the day:
This too shall pass. I’ll get over it.