I’ve been doing a great amount of thinking lately (and a great amount of reading at that), which as always can be a good or a bad thing.
As of right now, it’s been neither really. I can’t really wrap my head around it. I guess I’ve just been thinking about so many different things that I haven’t really been able to settle on one specific thing for any length of time, and during all the time I’m not thinking actively, I’m either reading, sleeping, or playing piano.
And here, I discuss what’s been occupying my mind as of late:
I’m worried about school. Classes start for me on the 18th and I’m not nearly as scared as I was this time last year. I know more or less what to expect now. I’m eager to meet my new teachers, for film to really start, to get back on an active schedule and stop feeling like such a recluse. My worries, however, are for my sensor. Whenever I think about it, I just think about the two years I was on the pump, and how much taunting and ridiculing I had to endure because of it. The one thing that really sets me apart from most people was put almost proudly on display for everyone to see, and it was very difficult to hide as my wire hated being tucked into the waistband of my pants. I know that the receiver I will keep hidden in my bag; I’ll have to remind myself it’s in there so as to keep myself from hurling my bag around as I so often used to. I’m also likely going to invest in some big sweaters to cover the actual sensor on my stomach. This is really the only thing I’m apprehensive about for the upcoming school year, but it’s enough to keep me up at night every now and then.
I can’t wait until I have a place of my own. I can’t wait to move out, honestly. Now, with the rest of my family working every morning and most afternoons, I have the house to myself for plentiful hours Monday through Friday, and I absolutely love it. I don’t mind washing the dishes, or sorting the dirty clothes, or picking up after everyone. It gives me a sense of responsibility I absolutely love feeling. Through this, despite everything my countless doctors have tried telling me, I feel like I can take care of myself. I don’t have to rely on anyone, and I’m not scared to be alone for long periods of time. I know nothing will happen to me, especially not now that I’m on the sensor and keeping a much tighter control on my diabetes. I honestly feel better than I have in five years. I love the quiet, the stillness, not being afraid to go to the kitchen in my underwear to get some string cheese. I really honestly cannot wait to move out.
I am actually a crazy fangirl. This disappoints me, as I usually cannot stand fangirls; I find them annoying and usually, I feel that they make whatever they’re obsessing over less special than it has the potential of being. But after sitting for five hours at my desk finishing my fifth book in two days, and squealing as the guy and girl ended up together and returned all their loved ones to the base camp, I realized: I am a fangirl. I need rehab, maybe even some therapy, maybe some medication. Scratch that, no rehab, if anyone even tried to take away my books at the moment I might bite them. My books are what is keeping me grounded at the time, and I haven’t felt this alive, because of anything, in a really long time. Books have given me back what I lost a few years ago and that I didn’t see returning for a very long time, if at all, and that is hope.
I haven’t been drawing lately. I’ve lost any sliver of creativity I used to have, and I don’t know why. I’m guessing I have artist’s block. At least this opened up more reading time.
I haven’t felt anxious in a while. I’ve even felt slightly motivated every now and then, such as when doing my summer reading. It feels great. It really, really does, more than I could ever hope to accurately express. I don’t feel like a zombie anymore, I don’t feel like I’m just surviving. I truly feel like I’m living. I’m in the here, right now, and I haven’t felt this alive in a really long time.
I really hope this lasts. I really, really do.