So, have I learnt to love the new me? Well, partially. I’ve learned a lot.
This is so cliché – I’m older and wiser but essentially I’m the same old me (just in a wheelchair for now, and needing a bit of help here and there cuz I’m soooo slooow and have the use of one eye).
I’ve realised how headstrong I am, and I’m just gonna do things “my way” meaning I’ll adapt to any situation. Be it zipping around in a wheelchair looking for the next thing to obsess about, or doing my exercises in the hope that this next miracle will happen.
I learnt that time doesn’t really matter. The more I stressed about time lines like “When am I gonna get better?” “Why am I not healed after four years?” “Why am I not making linear progress?”, the worse I felt.
I know it sounds like spiritual mumbo-jumbo but you get my point, no? Or maybe not. The new me is just a more chilled-out version who’s all there on top but whose legs don’t seem to communicate with the brain (just yet), that’s it…I’m just scared of falling back and breaking a bone or something? Boh?
