Delirious

Mentally, I feel like I can entirely handle this entire situation. I am ready to ROCK, conquer it all, KICK THIS SYNDROME'S ASS, power ahead at 400 miles per hour, and someday soon run 38 miles home with my baby. Oh, what's that? Ya want me to repaint the entire hospital in my down time? SURE! Find a cure for Fryn's while simultaneously making balloon animals in the playroom? I'M ON IT!

Physically, my body does not agree.

I don't really know how to explain this next part. It might make you raise an eyebrow and seriously wonder, "Wow, she's on some special kind of crack."

Let's start with the movie Avatar. There is a scene when the main male character returns to his human body, yet his love is still in her 14-foot tall, blue, Avatar body. She saves his life. She still loves him. She looks at him, presses her hand to his heart, and says, "I see YOU." Hold onto that concept as you continue reading.

I often describe myself as being separate from my body. I describe it in the form of, "My body has decided to stop producing milk..." Or, "I don't want the pain pills because I don't want my body to become addicted."

I am Jacee, and my mind is separate from this shell of a body that I'm stuck in. I might be 120 pounds or 208 pounds, but I'm Jacee, and I'm in this body.

When I look at you, I am not looking at your hair, or whether you are looking fashionable with your leggings and boots, or if your clothes match. I am looking at YOU; at your soul, and I will see you for who you really are. I hope that makes sense, and I hope you see ME, too.

I hate slowing down in any situation, and I hate to admit it, but my body is giving up.

If it were up to me, I'd be running laps around the hospital until my legs are burning while twirling a baton and directing the marching band.

But just like I had no control over my body deciding to stop producing milk, I feel like I have no control over how tired I am.

I described it to Dan as a car that has gone a hundred thousand miles past it's scheduled "change oil" date. It just breaks down.

It's like when people remark that the President's hair has turned white or grayed by the end of his term. It's stress. Through no conscious effort of their own, a person's body will just react to stress.

I've been pushed many miles past the "change oil" date. And now, it's extremely frustrating to the lucid, mental part of me that I can't do everything I need to/want to do, because my body is just breaking down, and apparently needs to sleep for 12 hours a day (even though I'll still wake up exhausted with tired eyes.)

If this makes me sound crazy, it's because at this point... I probably am.
***Side note.... I just watched a guy throw a chair in the kitchen and storm out on the woman he's with.*** Never a dull moment.