Ain’t It Funny…
… How time slips away.
It’s been almost 13 years since I’ve put words into this space. I’ve lived a thousand lives since then and died a thousand deaths. It’s a strange fate, to look back as a man at the scribes a boy once feverishly wrote. To witness a young man, unmedicated and in the whirlwind of love, madness, homelessness, love, hate and hope.
Before I share my most recent story, I’m reminded of the tumultuous journey that brought me to this moment. It all began with a storm brewing inside me, a tempest of emotions fueled by the relentless whirlwind of my bipolar disorder. Two winters past, I found myself navigating uncharted territory, grappling with a mental health crisis that shook me to my core. It was an identity break like no other, where the lines between reality and illusion blurred, and the very essence of who I was seemed to slip through my fingers like sand. It nearly cost me everything, everyone and myself on multiple occasions. I thought it was the worst thing that could happen to me…
Little did I know that this storm was merely the prelude to a cataclysmic event that would redefine the trajectory of my life forever. Just when I thought I had weathered the worst of it, fate dealt me a blow that reverberated through every fiber of my being, a devastating accident that left me bound to a wheelchair, a quadriplegic. In an instant, the landscape of my existence shifted, and I found myself thrust into a new reality, grappling with the profound loss of mobility and independence. Yet, amidst the wreckage of shattered dreams and broken promises, there flickered a glimmer of hope, a beacon guiding me through the darkness, reminding me that even in the face of adversity, the human spirit has the power to rise, resilient and unyielding.
As I sit here reflecting on my life-changing injury, I find myself overwhelmed with a myriad of emotions, reflecting on the journey I’ve traversed since that fateful day. Becoming a quadriplegic has not only altered my physical capabilities but has also reshaped my entire perspective on life, relationships, and self-identity.
The loss of close friends has been one of the most challenging aspects of this journey. Some friends, who I once considered to be my pillars of support, have gradually drifted away, unable to comprehend or cope with the magnitude of my injury. No messages, no calls, no visits except for 1. Their absence has left a void in my life, a reminder of the fragility of human connections and the unpredictability of circumstances.
However, amidst the loss, there has been an incredible surge of support from my family. Their unwavering presence and unconditional love have been my anchor in the stormy seas of uncertainty. They’ve embraced every obstacle alongside me, becoming not just caregivers, but companions on this arduous journey towards acceptance and adaptation.
Medical visits have become a regular part of my routine, each appointment a stark reminder of the intricacies of my condition and the challenges that lie ahead. Yet, within the sterile walls of hospitals and clinics, I’ve found solace in the expertise and compassion of healthcare professionals who tirelessly strive to improve my quality of life. Still, multiple bed sores that put me on bed rest for months each time, multiple UTI’s and sepsis have certainly taken its physical and emotional toll that, at times, leave me feeling there is no way out.
As I observe the toll my condition has exacted on my wife within the span of just a year, it becomes increasingly arduous to muster a reason to persevere. Witnessing her shoulders slump under the weight of caregiving responsibilities, seeing the exhaustion etched into the lines of her face, I can’t help but project forward and envisage the magnitude of what lies ahead. The contemplation of how much more she will have to sacrifice, how much of her own life she will have to set aside, intensifies the darkness that clouds my thoughts. In moments of profound despair, the idea of opting for what some may deem the “coward’s way out” gains an unsettling allure. It’s not a decision made lightly, but one born from a desperate urge to shield her from the relentless storm of suffering that I feel I am responsible for. The internal conflict between the pain of leaving her behind and the belief that sparing her from further anguish may be the ultimate act of love wrestles within me, leaving me in a state of agonizing uncertainty.
Perhaps the most profound aspect of this journey has been the mourning of my former self. The person I once was seems like a distant memory, overshadowed by the limitations and adaptations necessitated by my injury. There are moments when I long to reclaim aspects of my past life, to experience the freedom and independence I once took for granted. Yet, in this process of mourning, I’ve discovered resilience I never knew I possessed and a newfound appreciation for the beauty of life in all its forms.
As I mark this milestone, I am reminded that while the road ahead may be fraught with challenges, it is also brimming with opportunities for growth, self-discovery, and resilience. Though the journey of becoming a quadriplegic has been filled with loss and upheaval, it has also been a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and the unyielding power of love and support. And as I continue to navigate this new reality, I do so with gratitude for the light amidst the struggles and hope for the possibilities that lie ahead along with insecurity, fear, and grave concern for the toll others, namely my wife, will have to sacrifice just for me to live. All of this to say that I now see that I understood very little about the dynamics and inner workings of love, but this is educating me daily and if this is the cost of the education, I’ll gladly pay.
In the meantime I will just do what I’ve always done: fight.