So many of the stories I read on here and on myCOPDteam’s website deal with people being at the end of their lives. Being there, and unable to face reality.
Because I’m coming to this from a different viewpoint, in that they never expected me to live this long, and my body is still doing pretty well despite it being time to go onto disability in order to avoid being homeless and poverty stricken if I’m no longer able to work and am fired due to my underlying illness, I find it’s often kinder to say nothing on other people’s posts as I just don’t get the fear of the inevitable.
Maybe I’m just too shallow-minded?
Maybe I just accept that there are lots of grey areas in life, without clear-cut answers?
Whatever it is, I feel like this crazy woman riding a bike through their stories, unable to see anything but her own view of the world, while also empathizing with all that everyone else is going through. Yet still unable to change their outcomes or make any difference in my being there.
At the end of the day, when the pantyhose have been torn by brambles, and my turban is askew, I’m still going to be who I am, the crazy woman who started the day styling, and certain that I looked my best with what I had to work with, and game enough to try and have fun. I just can’t be sitting on the sidelines, angry at the world, denying that time is running out, and bemoaning my fate.
I am just too shallow to sit and wallow. Even I get bored with myself and the whining. While also knowing that contemplation and venting has its place. I just can’t keep up the energy level to worry, even when it’s a realistic concern, as I just get aggravated.
To illustrate, I’ll tell you another story. Many years ago, we were camping in the woods. We’d gone with a bunch of people from work, including a bunch of my girlfriends hoping to hook up with the engineering types and prove that they were “worthy” dating material.
Yeah, I was a girl scout, camping badge and all, so I was there to camp vs. worrying about how cool I looked staying outdoors and sleeping on the ground while trying to snag a man. I would never date anyone at work, as I’d long ago decided that I wasn’t dating material, so my agenda was very different from other girls of my age. I was the admin for the guys, as I ran 3 engineering teams of designers, 50 in all, so I was also the entry to this party for all my secretarial friends. Girls that I tried hard to enjoy and get along with, but whose life experiences were so different than mine that it was like I was an alien being.
But, I tell you that to tell you this. By the time Terri screamed for the 15th time as lighting thundered, and the girls had run back and forth over my body getting into and out of the tent, running to the cars for “safety”, I was fed up. Tired. Grouchy. Indifferent.
It was the middle of the night. I was cold. The ground was hard. I was tired. I didn’t care if a bear got me or I was hit by lighting. Whatever happened, or didn’t happen, life would go on. I’d either be eaten by a bear (not likely!), or hit by lightening (again, not likely), but I was going to get some sleep before the night was through.
We’d already made a run to my grandparent’s cottage to pick up extra blankets (October camping in New Hampshire is FREEZING), and I wasn’t leaving this bed again. Whatever was going to happen was beyond my control, so please just leave me to sleep.
I didn’t have a lot of patience then, and I have even less now as I work my way through life.
At the end of the day, we all make this journey alone, and I need my beauty sleep. Rather that get sucked into all of the drama going on around me, I generally think it’s kinder to just keep my mouth shut and go on my way. It doesn’t change anything, but at least I stay out of trouble (most of the time).