August Long Weekend 2010: The anniversary of my Lupus Cerebritis meltdown approaches. This year, a celebration is scheduled. Not for myself, but for one of my oldest and most beloved keepers. And just as she stood by my bedside a year ago, I will stand by hers on her wedding day (sans hospital gown, of course), as she enters into a new stage of life.
Shall I pour on the melodrama and claim that on that weekend, after a year of recovery, that I am doing the same? Is it silly to think that I’m crossing a shimmering threshold into “better days,” or that I have been “reborn” into a different type of existence? I can see the peanut gallery rising up to condemn me – “Arrogant little flake, isn’t she?”
I should know better than to hype things up the way I do, the way I cram forced symbolism and relevance on “anniversaries” and arbitrary events. The thing is, I don’t quite know what to do with myself as I eye the calendar days inch closer and closer towards closing this particular circle of time. It feels like I need to recognize it somehow, that I’m searching for closure for something that doesn’t end. Recovery is forever. Not just for me, but for everyone.
I have been on 2.5 mg of “Evil P” for over a month now, maybe even two… I stopped keeping track. Incredibly, I have been making up every excuse to delay going off it completely. I have a nagging feeling that there is indeed, a man behind the curtain, who could pull the plug on this beautiful, painless, and ultimately, illusory existence. I guess I’m not feeling brave enough to find out… just yet.
And so, in about two weeks, I will surpass the “one year mark.” I think it is best to quietly acknowledge it without fanfare or grandiose statements of what it means or where I “should be at.” It may be best to do nothing, because there’s nothing to do, but to turn the calendar page.