Was I scared?

Was I scared? How can I make so many jokes? Why didn’t I take it more seriously? I guess it’s my coping mechanism; to find the absurd. Sometimes it’s the humor in a dark situation, sometimes it’s darkness and sadness in moments that are happy. I think it’s a fear of being stuck in everyone else’s extremes. I like to be in the eye of the storm; where things are quiet, but far from over.

But yeah, I should have been more scared. The biggest thing that I was dealing with was frustration. Once I realized that I couldn’t fix myself, I became quickly frustrated that I couldn’t find someone that could fix me.  I had finally given in to seeking outside help, and it seemed like they knew as much about what was wrong as I did.  I was frustrated with taking another blood test. I was frustrated having to take antibiotics for two weeks, to see if that would fix things. I was frustrated when the doctors sent me to get ultrasounds, the results of which gave no answers. I was frustrated going to bed each night between two towels, with two more next to me because I was going to sweat them all through. I was frustrated at measuring the night out by the number of times I went to the bathroom. On a good night it would only be 8 times.

I was getting pissed off. I wanted to go back to August. I wanted to have my life back. I wanted to run on the beach. I wanted to sip rum and coke, dance, and travel. Finally, I hit bottom. I gave up. I stopped caring what happened to me.  I was defeated.  I don’t think defeat is something you admit. Rather, it’s something that happens when you stop believing in yourself. It’s the monster that tears you apart because you stopped running.

Then I got lucky. Really lucky. I was lucky to have friends that didn’t give up on me. I was lucky to have a doctor that wouldn’t let me fall through the cracks. I was lucky that I got dropped off at Jackson Memorial Hospital, equipped with a top-notch staff that was able to recognize tuberculosis, and save my life. I was lucky that my friends, my family, and the medical staff believed that it was a life worth saving. Because I didn’t.

There are times that I think back to that time, when the grim reaper’s shadow looked over me, and I have a quiet moment. It’s a reflection and commitment to never give up on myself again. It’s a commitment to never give up on my friends. It’s a commitment to never give up on anyone, nor be complacent to let others give into defeat.

Now I need to think of a joke.

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