I'm Still Me

I recently watched the movie “Still Alice.” For those who don’t know, it’s about a woman who develops Familial Early Onset Alzheimer’s disease. It’s the story of her decline and the struggles of her family and more importantly the struggles she faces.  In it she quotes Elizabeth Bishoponce who said: 

"the Art of Losing isn't hard to master: so many things seem filled with    the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster” 

and continues on to say that as a person with Early Onset Alzheimer’s she masters the art of losing every day. As a person living with Multiple Sclerosis, PTSD, chronic infections, an unexpected death in the family and as an amputee I too master the art of losing. Losing control of my body. Losing control of my mind and myself when the flashbacks strike. Losing the future I thought I’d had. Losing my big sister, my hero, to brain cancer. And of course, the obvious, losing my right leg.

In that same speech she goes on to say that for now she’s still alive and has things she wants to do with her life and though she has bad days she also has times of complete happiness. She makes it clear that there’s a distinction between suffering and struggling and that she is struggling to remain connected. She’s learned to live in the moment and to master the art of losing. Her speech has stuck with me. It grabbed me as it was supposed to do.

Earlier that very day that I watched the movie, I’d been in a bad place mentally and emotionally. I’d gone to my PTSD therapy session depressed, exhausted, and feeling that I had nothing left. I had no more to give to myself or to others. I sat with my hat pulled down to cover my eyes and refused to look at my therapist who is an incredible therapist as well as an incredible human being. He made me look at him and asked a simple question. “Are you saying goodbye?” I’ll be perfectly honest that I’d gone into that session believing I would be saying goodbye because as I said I was done, I had nothing left. Instead, as he put a hand on my arm and looked me in the eye I realized I wasn’t quite as done as I thought I was and that I couldn’t say goodbye. During that session I discovered that I still have the ability to make jokes (sometimes morbid ones in relation to my struggles). I still have the ability to smile and laugh. I’m still here. What makes me the person I am is still inside me. I’m still here. I’m Still Meg.

I’ve changed. Who wouldn’t while facing the obstacles life has put in my path? I’m not the same person I was when this all began. I can’t be. I’m a new and different version of myself but I’m still here and I’m still me. I walk on crutches or use a wheelchair to get around and do what I need to do. I struggle with the symptoms of PTSD – the flashes of anger, reliving the events as though they’re happening in the here and now, the anxiety and fear, the hyper-vigilance, the nightmares, the times where I’m just numb and feel nothing at all, the intense and scary reactions to triggers. I struggle with having just lost my sister to cancer and all of the feelings such as anger, disbelief, and immense sadness connected to that. I miss her dearly and would give my other leg to have her back. I wear her thumbprint around my neck every day and find myself touching it and fiddling with it often because that talisman helps me feel her close to me even though she’s gone. Her cancer and death was a fast moving train that we never saw coming as we stood oblivious on the tracks.

She would implore me to continue the fight I’m in and to remember to live in the moment instead of being three steps ahead and worrying. I think that she would be proud of me for so many things but definitely for learning to master the art of losing. With everything I’ve lost I’ve continued on and seen every event as a speed bump on my journey through life. She’d want me to continue to do that so I will.

I have lost a lot in my short time here on earth. Many would say that I’ve lost more than any one person should have to endure. Many would say I have suffered more than any one person should. Perhaps they are right; often I’m pretty sure they are right. However, those were the cards I was dealt and I can’t reshuffle the deck. Instead, like Alice, I will appreciate the moments of complete and overwhelming happiness and continue to struggle to remain connected to this world and those who are important to me.

I’m a different version of the person we all thought I might become but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m still here and I’m still me and I plan to continue to not allow my struggles to steal my essence. The journey through life can be tough and events and people will no doubt change you, as that is what life constantly does. Remember who you are and no matter what remember that you’re still here. You’re still you. Just as I am still me.