Does He Like Me?
I was supposed to have PT and my AFO brace fitting today, but I knew I would set myself up for failure if I tried to squeak in both things. I’m just not physically or mentally there yet. But I’m working on it.
So I kept the fitting on my calendar and cancelled PT, reasoning that I had already rescheduled the fitting appointment once, and PT will likely help more if I’m not tripping over my foot when I try to walk.
I need that brace, dammit. I want that brace almost as much as I want cake.
I have drop foot from general muscle weakness and a calf muscle that seems very gung-ho about contracting when it’s not necessary. (Thanks, anxiety.) In-home PTs explained that I’m burning so much energy dragging that foot but trying to compensate for the awkward gait. I hope the brace will keep me from tiring out so quickly.
I exhaust myself trying to do the simplest things. Like walk to the bathroom.
When I explained to Dan that there was just one appointment today, he asked why. I simply said “Because that’s how I want to do it.”
Then on the way home he was starting to get his panties in a twist over the current state of affairs. It was all very justifiable, but I cannot deal with Grumpy Dan and focus on avoiding a panic attack. So when I felt the muscles tighten and my throat closing, I said, “Say happy things now.”
Those are the boundaries I need to keep moving forward. I’ll be mean about it if I have to. I don’t intend for any of this added disability to be permanent.
I might be wrong, but I don’t think the vast majority of cishet white dudes understand what an absolutely fucking exhausting nightmare burden it is to manage someone else’s feelings out of an innate desire for self-preservation. Because they didn’t need to learn that skill.
Like, my lizard brain is genuinely convinced I’ll die if you abandon me right this second, so if you could just complain later or not at all? That’d be great. I don’t want to be worried about whether or not you like me enough to stay right now, please and thank you.
