“The tears shall drown the wind, I have no spur to prick the sides of my intent, but only vaulting ambition which o’er leaps itself and falls on the other”
Macbeth, Act 1, Scene 7.
Hubris may have been Macbeth's hamartia in the Scottish play, but it certainly isn't mine. When you have such cripplingly low self esteem it's hard to feel proud of yourself, or any positive emotion for that matter. After I put the man that raped me in prison people told me that they were proud of me, but those people fade away and leave your life aren't your friends anymore. The low self-esteem, however, stays.
Last week, I threw my back out. I have a trapped nerve in my spine, and I've thrown it out maybe 4 times in my life. Normally, I end up in the hospital, but as a recovering addict who is also self-aware, that wasn't an option this time. As much as I may want the good painkillers, I can't be trusted with them. The second they're in my possession, they get split, crushed and shoved up my nose with the enthusiasm of a child tasting sugar for the first time. It's good that I've developed this self-awareness and know what I can and cannot do, but the over-the-counter painkillers really weren't cutting it that first night.
Thursday night and the following day were the worst. I spent two upsettingly long periods of time lying on the bathroom floor, unable to move, dragging myself back to bed like a paralyzed worm, deep breathing through the pain.
I even wrote myself a little song to the tune of The workout song from Cinderella to jiffy myself along, it went something like this.
You can do it, you can do it
You can get back into bed.
You can get up off the floor now,
So nod your pretty head.
It kind of helped.
Anyway, I decided that this time I was determined to move around as soon as I could, and I actually managed to do it. Even though I ended up trying to pick a packet of mortadella ham up off the floor with my toes while trying to make a ham and cheese toastie, I got up and walked around my room when I could. Even if it was just to flick the kettle on. I have never been more thankful for the size of my apartment than I have been these past 7 days. By Sunday, I was able to return to work for a few hours, and today I even made it to the gym. It was only for half an hour, but seeing as I'm still in a great deal of pain, I was actually proud of myself.
An alien emotion, I can tell you.
Someone also told me they were proud of me the other day for taking my medication. I thought it was kind of silly at first. I don't do anything, I just pop pills to function. My life would be a hell of a lot easier if I didn't have to, but BPD is just something I live with. I asked him what he meant, and he said he was proud of me for taking action to treat and manage my condition when so many people don't and just give in to their mental health problems. I've always just seen taking my medication as something I have to do; I never really thought of it in any other way. I know the whole point of working on my self-esteem is to improve the way I feel about myself and not base my feelings on other people's opinions, but being shown another way I could feel proud has allowed me to feel better on its own. It's not as if I've run a marathon towards my goal of feeling better about myself, but I've managed a short 100m sprint at least.
I'm also proud of myself for not ordering take out and eating the food I have at home. But that's more because GYG had a $10 burrito deal last month and I ate more Mexican food in one sitting than anyone ever should. $10 burritos or not.
Stay safe on the road
Jess
xXx
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