3 years

I honestly don’t know where to begin writing this or expressing what I’m thinking or feeling on this day. This might sound harsh in some ways and it might make you uncomfortable but this is what reality is like for many people who have endured trauma. So, here are my raw and unfiltered/unorganized thoughts on this 3rd year anniversary of my most horrific day.

If you want the story from the beginning, here it is.

I know that we are constantly being told to not compare ourselves to others. I’m careful not to do too much of that because I understand that everyone comes from different circumstances. But, I feel it is so much harder to not compare myself with the old me.

Three years ago I would’ve never imagined my life, my body, and my mind
to be where it is today.

Here’s where the truth hurts… In some ways, I hate myself for what’s happened.
It was an accident, I know. Life happens. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe God forced her car in my path to change my course. I don’t know. I try to find comfort in that, but, at the end of the day, self-loathing is a constant battle.

I don’t think I’m necessarily angry with myself. I think I’m more disappointed in myself. I’m not going to name all of the things I used to be able to do. But I am constantly reminded that I am weak – physically and painfully weak.

I cannot take complete care of myself. I am no longer fully independent.
I am an adult. A grown woman about to be married. Yet, I am unable to feel like one because my legs are weak and my arms are fragile.

I am afraid of growing older.
Aging will only make me weaker. Is it possible to feel weaker than this?

I guess the answer would be yes. I have experienced weaker than this third year. I have experienced much more pain than this third year.

The first year after I was hit is a year I wouldn’t wish upon anyone.
27 years old, just started graduate school, working two great jobs, and thennnn BOOM! Within just a few moments I went from being in the prime of my life to not being able to dress myself. I am blessed to have a mother who could care for me in the ways that she does.

However, my pride was beaten down every single day.

During that time, I used to crawl up the stairs. I would ponder and thank God for my knees. Three years later, I am much more graceful as I walk up and down those stairs! Each time I do it, I think of how far my legs have come, and how much farther they need to go. Will they get where I need them to be? Will they get where they used to be?

Three years later, there are times now that I feel almost “normal”.
The moments where I don’t need a back brace, neck pillow, cushions under my arms, legs upright, and am not experiencing excruciating pain. For instance, I can now go on movie dates and not be replaced and miss out. Something so simple has turned intosuch a luxury. It’s not a horrible notion…I now appreciate all the small things I used to take for granted.

Another beautiful thing I’ve gotten to enjoy after 3 years is the strength to walk a bit further. During short walks I can stroll alongside my fiancé instead of being pushed in front of him in a wheelchair.

Those walks mean the world to me. I don’t care if it’s below 20° and we’re treading through ice. I am so grateful for my legs in that moment, and as weak as they may be, they still carry me through those memorable strolls. He thinks I’m causing myself unnecessary pain. But he doesn’t realize how important it is for me/for us to be able to do these things together.

Painting this, in honor of 3 years, to represent my journey thus far. I ponder on these past 3 years.

As I do that, this piece covers anxiety with tranquility. There is much strength and growth to come…Who knows what that will look like 3 years from now!