Friday, June 21, 2013

Oblivion (Day 21)

   Somewhere in between when I was 17 and around age 20, I lived. Or at least, I existed. I honestly have very vague recollections of that period of my life. I call them the "Missing Years"; years when I lived in a pain induced depressive fugue. It's really quite scary, actually, to think of a 2-3 year blank in my memory, but that's how it is.

   I know that I did some of the basic things: go to see my neurologist ever 6 weeks, various therapists, a migraine clinic, a sleep doctor, acupuncturist, etc. But I really can't tell you much of what was going on. I was the pain, and pain is crippling; ergo I was crippled. I could sleep up to twenty hours in a day, pass out up to ten times, or just plain cease to function and try to shut out the world. I did a pretty good job of it too.

   The couch in my den, on which I'd always lie during the day, and sleep on half the nights, ended up having the springs mold to my curled up, fetal positioned body. I found it exceedingly comfortable, and I could just nestle down there for hours at a time, but my mom, when she came in to sit with me and try to get me to act more engaged, found it dreadfully uncomfortable. Finally, it got to the point that we had to get rid of that couch it was so uncomfortable to everybody else.
   The getting rid of the couch, I think, was also a silent statement that I was too going to get out of my fugue, if it was the last thing that I did. Because if I hadn't woken up, it might have been.

  Apparently, unknown to me, although I might well have been in the room at the time this was said, near the end of the Missing Years, I was given a prognosis of two years to live at my then current lifestyle before I finished shutting down my organs by putting my body to sleep. (I only found out about this prognosis years later.)

   And so, I was metaphorically dragged kicking and screaming from my sleepy oblivion, back into reality, and then on my way to learning how to deal with the chronic pain in a more healthy manner. But the Missing Years remain a blank in my memory, and that now saddens me more than anything else.

Quantum in me fuit,

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