Friday, the 113th

Dear Reader,

Last time I wrote to you I said I had set my mind to do the extraordinary with the few abilities I have left. But, also, I asked for a little time to heal. Well, I think I am going to need even more time.

It’s been 113 days since life kicked me in the butt and I’ve been laying smashed into the ground ever since. There is very little strength left in my arms to pick myself up from the ground. This is not like a headache where you take a pill and the pain goes away. It is not like a tooth ache and going to the dentist and having your cavity treated or your tooth extracted. It is not even like having a surgery where your problem is fixed and wait for your wounds to heal in time. I look to my left. Black. I look to my right. Black. I look up, down. I turn myself around and look. All I see is BLACK. It does not matter how much I rub my eyes. It does not matter how many gallons of tears wash up my cheeks. This is not going away. It’s like a pest and if it ever goes away, it will only do so when there won’t be any hope, power and will left and all that will be left of me will be a hollow of the person I was. In all honesty, if I were in a group and we were chased in the forest by Jason, I would be the first to fall down and I would be “chainsawed”.

I was told not to believe in “what ifs” . I was told not to look into the past because it will make me more sad. I was told not to look forward to the future, as it would make me feel even sadder. I was told that I should live in the present and enjoy every bit of it, however mundane it may feel. But when you have so much free time on your hands, all you can do is think over and over and over and over…and over again over the things that led to who you are.

If only I had woken up half an hour earlier or later on the 1st of November… If only I had walked in another room than the other…If only I had turned on the TV and watched something… If people really deserved their trust…If only I had been apologized to… If only I hadn’t been curious about silly things…If only I hadn’t cried my whole heart out for hours… So many ifs… And if only one of them were different, none of this would have happened. And now I would have been drinking a cup of tea and thinking about my next crochet tutorial. It’s sad. Instead all I can do is punish myself and be disappointed with the choices that I’ve made. How could I ever believe that it will go away, when I was throwing up twice a day and I wasn’t able to see well through my right eye? How could I have put my life in other people’s hands who didn’t deserve my trust? How could I ask for help from other people other than my family? How could I have waited for ten days to tell my parents about the gravity of the situation and ask for their help ? A lot of ifs and hows. I remember when I left Ireland, I thought I would go to the hospital and that I would be fine in two weeks time. When I lost my sight completely, I remember that I thought that it would come back by the 1st of February. But none of that happened.

My bio energy doctor told my mother that she wasn’t even allowed to sigh, that we should think positive. But, you can’t be positive all the time. He also said that if God didn’t want me to heal, than God wouldn’t have sent me to him. He, also, has been expecting me to see for weeks now. None of that has happened yet, although I can’t ignore the little improvements that have been happening to me lately. My family tells me that you break things easily , but it takes time and a lot of hard work and patience to mend them. There is still a little bit of hope and patience left in me. How do I know I haven’t lost all hope yet? It is because I think that in six months my brain would have had enough time to heal. There are 129 days until the 1st of July. Little over six months since I started home treatment. So, what are four months left in comparison with the rest of my life? If my sight will ever be restored, that is? Have you noticed that I haven’t said a word about my hearing? It is because all I want right now more than anything else is to be able to see. I came to the conclusion that I could be happy just seeing.

I was talking about “what ifs” earlier. If the blood clots that affected my eyesight and hearing happened anywhere else in my body, it could have been much worse. If the worst happened, I know my mother would have never worn anything else but black. My father would have gone white and would have never smiled again. And my sister…well, I don’t think she would have trusted anyone or anything ever again. They are the only reason I wish for the worst to not have happened. At the same time, how badly I wish that my mobility had been affected instead of my sight. I would replace my hands and legs with my eyes and ears any day. At least, that is how I feel right now. Even so, I would still be able to climb a mountain and enjoy the view. Even though I am not able to understand what I hear, my mind is as sharp as a butcher’s knife which makes things even worse as I am fully aware there is a whole life happening out there that I am not taking part and I am missing it.

All I am left to do is spill my frustration and pour my heart out on the internet and I hope that, at least, a few of you will learn from my experience. If you suffer from depression, tell some, ask for the help from the people you trust most and treat it. If a person or another makes you cry on a daily basis, they don’t deserve your trust and affection. If your instincts tell you that there is something fishy going on around you, than there probably is. You don’t need to over think things and be paranoid, but don’t give away too much, too soon, either. In collage, my philosophy teacher told us once:

“In life you only meet a few persons, the rest is population.”

In the mean time, I’ll go back to my black prison counting the few hours left until I go to sleep. It is the only time in a day I don’t care that I am blind. Also, there will be 129 days until the 1st of July.

I will tell you more about the little improvements in my condition in my next post.

Stay well,

Catalina.

P.S.: I want my own Michael Scofield to help me escape from my prison.