I have plantar fasciitis, and as it turns out, I've actually had it for about a decade. I didn't realize what it was at the time, but it developed the first round of my starting to run, and then stayed around for years of retail and standing around on concrete jobs. I joked with the Doctor that I don't know how something would have been wrong with my feet for that long when I spent so much of college on my back, and she thought I was suggesting maybe I have a back problem. Maybe I'm not so funny afterall. It only actually got awful, legitimately awful (read: hobbling) for a week, and then I looked into it, saw a doctor, and what do ya know, I have PFasc. And then, after tracking pain levels after what activities, realizing I've had some grade of it for fucking years. So much for being excited to turn thirty.
Though I did successfully dig my kit out of the trash, I have not used it and it sits frozen in a block of ice in the freezer. I plan to bury it somewhere at some point but for now that feels like... I know it's not rational and I know it's not true but I do feel and I am afraid that if I bury it or get rid of it now, it's a friend that has been there for me (yes, right or wrong,) and I am abandoning it. And, completely irrationally, I worry that it will feel abandoned by me and might need me and I won't be there. I know that is full-on fiction. I do think having it here is some grade of unhealthy maybe, but I also think it feels better to have it here and frozen so that if I ever truly, really truly feel like I need it, I can go ahead and thaw it, at which point I will likely have cried my way out of it and not use it, and I also don't have to sit through feeling like I abandoned it.
And I've started looking at my mother like an addict. That was likely the Intervention marathon I went on, but it's occurred to me that much like anyone dealing with the mentally ill, it's possible she's an addict of her own kind and her addiction is him. She's got to enable, she's got to be there, she's got to fix. It's not right, again, but it's nice to let go of wondering how guilty I should feel, or how much I should question not speaking to her ever, when I think of her as an addict that can't help it. It's compassionate to view her as someone that truly can't help it, and it's liberating to view her evil, so to speak, and something that can't be helped. It's sad, but it's also who she is at her core. It's worth recognizing who she is, but it's also...exactly that. Girl, that is who she is. Without help she's an addict that will continue to do this and help him.
Dad was diagnosed with ALS, I don't know if I'd mentioned much of that. He has ALS and now I'm afraid to call him. Had that big blowout with Vince about calling him. Vince says he wants to give me money. I don't want to call and then have everyone think I did so for money. I also don't want to not call to avoid that rumor and then have him hurting knowing I didn't call, on his deathbed, for the sake of forgoing a rumor. And now I'm worried I'll call and I'll catch him on a bad day and he won't remember me anyway. Then again he was a shitty father so how much did he have to remember in the first place. It's a shitty question to ask, and it's pregnant with blame, but I don't think it's unfair.
Ugh, sorry to hear about your feets. Getting older does seem to involve pain, stuff not working right, or falling off/out, but it is better than the alternative.
For a second I imagined kit to be a needle, spoon, and belt, then I figured it out... all on my own! Drewnum P.I.
Once I diagnosed my sister, I decided to not blame her for all the crazy shit she did when she was mentally ill and just gave her a pass. Seeing her medicated over the holidays, she's doing better than ever. Makes me wonder if my mom woulda been better on drugs. Better living through big pharma.
What are the pros and cons of calling dad?