I am astonished when people say to me, “I don’t know how you keep going. I probably would have given up by now.” But, I think I am actually pretty normal in my reaction to my accident and determination in recovery.
You see, as the result of one accident, most people won’t lose their home, their (supposed) life partner, their ability to work, their financial security, their independence, their ability to lead an active lifestyle, their ability to enjoy simple pleasures like a walk on a beach or a movie in a theater, their ability to do simple tasks easily (like grocery shopping or open a refrigerator door), much less every aspect that once defined who they were.
I used to say that I have lost everything because of this accident. I have come to realize that this is untrue. I still have the love and support of my parents. I still have a handful of wonderful friends who are gentle and help motivate me. And I still have my bike.
So, since most people won’t experience this degree of loss, they can’t imagine what they would do if they were in my “situation.”
It is overwhelming, for certain. It is a scary, for certain. I have very dark days, for certain. I have trouble imagining a life for myself in the future. I don’t have any of this figured out yet.
What does it mean to “give up” anyway? I know people use it in phrases that are meant as flippant hyperbole reiterating a platitudinous construct meaning “You’re in a tough spot in life. You’re working incredibly hard. Keep it up.” But, let’s think about giving up in terms of the actual words.
Typically when we give up on or quit something, we move on to some other option. But, what happens when you have no other option? When there is no other place to go for safety? When there is literally nothing else you can do? Giving up is a luxury. Giving up is lot more difficult than just an abstract notion of moving on.
Even in my darkest days, I can’t conceive of the only way to truly give up…
As long as I am alive, giving up is simply not possible. I’m not saying that because I think I am some super-human, super-motivated, super-driven CRPS “warrior” martyr. No. I’m not. I, just like everyone else, am simply governed by regular old human nature.
I tried for the first months, out of denial and sheer desperation, to cling to my life as I knew it. Everything (apart from the love of my family and some very dear friends) gradually fell away. It is the loneliest place to be.
I was lost. I still am.
Here’s the catch though: CRPS isn’t life-threatening, and yet I will have it for the rest of my life. That means I have (presumably) over forty more years of this. I don’t have over forty years’ worth of tears. I can’t stay in bed in pain with a laptop on my lap for over forty years. I can’t have almost no social interaction for over forty years.
The permanence is unbearably daunting. I don’t have a choice; I am forced to face it, confront it, and deal with it. Knowing that this isn’t going to go away (on its own or possibly at all), I said what any normal human would say in my situation.
Fuck it. I’m far too young for this shit. I gotta try to figure it out.
And so, I am doing what any normal human would do in my situation. Day by day, I keep trying to salvage scraps of my life. Because I have no other option, including giving up.
Giving up isn’t human nature.