Tomorrow (78/90)

I’m trying to write this before I take another dose of pain medicine and fall back asleep because the past few days have left me with some catching up to do.

But I’m not sure that I’ll make it.

I convinced myself that today would be better. Upon opening my eyes this morning, I realized that it won’t. Which may sound premature, but I know my body. Nearly eight years into this struggle I know that this is as good as it’s gonna get for today. At 9 AM I already know that getting to the mandatory "social gathering" I’ve got in Muncie at 2 PM will be a struggle. But, I’ll make it there, and I’ll be as much myself as I can.

I’m lying in bed with my heating pad turned up to high, burning my back. But it’s not helping. It hasn’t been this bad in a while.

I was certainly caught off guard.

I’ve stuck to my guns though. I didn’t call my mom—okay I did but hung up after a few rings knowing there was nothing she could do or say to help me— and I didn’t curse my doctor under my breath. I did cry, the one thing that by 10pm I couldn’t keep myself from doing.

I’m trying not to let this derail me though, as it so often does. My tenacity is born of anger and frustration. I’ve got to get through; to keep making it work because is no end in sight. I’ve got no other choice but to work through it.

There’s no probable solution.

Especially not for a 22-year old without a significant other and any plans to have children within the next few years. No good doctor wants to touch me; to start surgeries that would be necessary every couple of years without any real promise of a remedy.

And so I just hold on and convince myself that tomorrow will be better.

I hope that it actually is.