It's seven weeks since my third break; smacking my hand on a door handle last week had me in pain for 48 hrs as the hand cramped up. Thankfully it got better in time for Fall Gathering.
Today the cold I've had all week flared evilly, knowing it was my day off. I worked on the time machine, with this immediate result:
While working on a section about life stumbling blocks I began to examine my personal stumbling block, as identified in my time machine. Whenever I perceived personal rejection, I have an unreasonable desire to tell everyone about the rejection with the objective of being vindicated by them. It's gotten me into trouble before, and today I realized its at the very heart of many problems I currently face.
Rejection. It goes back to kindergarten, and "not playing well in groups." Well, how can one learn to play in a group WHEN THE GROUP REFUSES TO PLAY WITH YOU?
Indeed, ALL of my kindergarten memories are of the rejection of my peers with just one exception; the mid-year arrival of Hugh Tyler Ross, most likely because I saw him receive some rejection, too. Every school yard pick'em ended the same: I was chosen last. Granted I wasn't gifted athletically (which I now believe to be the result of going right handed as a left-eye dominant ambidextrous youth, thank you broken right hand for that insight!) and I was set apart as "gifted" (but so were the popular kids, apparently I was the only nerd) but the rejection of my peers started early, and it never stopped. Over time I developed different ways of handling it; being a voracious reader, I claimed to have travelled to many places I'd only read about; in middle school I was able to stretch these exaggerations into fanciful tales. By high school I simply decided I was superior to these fools, and buried my face behind the latest Star Trek novel, all the while longing to belong. In college I was starting to fit in (mostly because so many other misfits attended my college, right David?) but rejection still haunted me in early adulthood, and sadly, to this very day.
Unfortunately, it was The Knight of Physical Therapy's prolonged illness and eventual death when I picked up the habit of needing affirmation after rejection. The last six weeks of his life were an endless battle to protect his rights, which I solely held as his medical power of attorney. He had decided six months prior he wanted every possible treatment to prolong his life-we had a baby on the way, and he was determined to fight. When he slipped into a coma, I was his voice...and everyone around me wanted to pull the plug. Despite his written personal wishes and the fact he was in no pain, the doctors, his family and friends fought with me to change that decision. I was only 24 years old at the time, and resolutely stood my ground to honor his wishes. It was hell.
The rejection of me in those days was so complete, even my very life was threatened. Family I thought loved me told me they hated me for following the written wishes of my husband on a notarized medical power of attorney document. While I prayed for a miracle and spent every waking moment by his side, I was attacked the moment I was alone, told to face reality and let him go. After every attack, I'd seek reassurance from those on "my side," thus beginning the life long stumbling block. The doctors, who wholey assured me my husband was in no pain, with few exceptions still tended to agree that pulling the plug was sensible. He wasn't going to recover (he had an inoperable brain tumor), so why prolong his death?
Because of what if.
What if he did recover? What if he was accepted in the gamma knife trials? What if they found a cure?
The Knight knew of my time traveling prowess long ago. His final gift to me was eliminating all the what if's; I have not a single regret concerning his final wishes. It was love shown in its purest form, by a young 29 year old husband and new daddy. "Do everything so you have no regrets when I'm gone," he had said, while spooned up behind me, his hands on my very pregnant belly. The peace it gave me in the following months and years was truly a gift; despite the rejection of others at the time, I still have no regrets.
But the habit of needing immediate reassurance after rejection (real or perceived) was now securely a part of my psyche. Looking back, I can also see I began to equate real love as the absence of rejection. So when The King came around...
Let's just say that today has been a Very Deep Thoughts kind of day.
My fitness quest was started as a way to get my body in shape. A broken hand has forced the quest in other directions. Apparently, my mental fitness is getting a workout during the physical healing time.
Who knew time travel could change the future?
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