Page 10: Focus
✯ Old photo: Past days in the wild.
“I still have the choice to choose where to place my thoughts. And that is something I must never forget, for that is power.”
Focus
April 2020
Part One
I’ve been enticed back into the world of written word. Not because of better health, but by an eternal desire that runs deep within the veins of every single being, an essential element of fulfilment, the power of purpose. Writing remains the faint flicker of light within the midsts of my darkness, it distracts me from suffering and gives me the strength to fight adversity.
I’d love to bring great news, but my reality shapes a different story. It’s become an enormous challenge to write words of worth and a constant test to simply exist. My body remains a torturous place to inhabit. I’m dominated by discomfort, punished by pain and drained by the smallest of actions. I’m frequently forced to spend over 23 of 24 hours in bed. I’m suffering side-effects of a solitary existence. I miss human company, but I can’t cope with it. I can’t deal with much. Reading books, watching films, listening to podcasts, they’re frequently too exhausting. I’m trying to be at peace with this, but it’s no easy task. I’ve so much locked within me. I’ve such a deep yearning to create, to express, to connect, yet simple words evade me, sentences escape me and thoughts dissolve like snowflakes on warm skin. But it’s not just my words, it’s practically everything.
I’ve become one of the millions missing. One of millions of souls suffering behind closed doors, shut out of sight from the society, ripped away from the outside world and locked away by chronic illness or cruel consequence. My system’s barely coping. I’m still fighting, still seeking, but I’m losing capability.
Determination drains me, giving up demoralises me. When to rest? When to retaliate? How to find clarity? How to differentiate rationality from irrationality when the answers shift as moments move. The balance remains difficult to define, but the mantra remains the same. Failure will not be found within my surrender.
Part Two
Why is it that when adversity hits us hardest do we become drawn to defeatism and self-destructive impulses? Seems like an evolutionary error, survival instinct gone wrong. It’s an issue I have to fight, constantly. What to do when chronic illness nurtures negatives, exhaustion erodes dreams and disability dissolves hope? Optimism’s essential, but reality checks are raw and living in a land of idealised thought is flawed.
My world feels like it’s folding in on itself, like the life-force is being sucked out of me. It’s frightening to feel capability evaporate as days disintegrate. It’s exhausting to move, communicate or process simple information. Conversation’s frequently too challenging, and I’m becoming increasingly sound-intolerant. At times, even birdsong or turning the pages of a book can be too loud. My mind now struggles to cope with even the simplest of things. Writing these words feels like I’m physically heaving thoughts from my brain and wrenching energy from deep within my malfunctioning body. Honestly, I’m scared. This disease is steadily dragging me down into the depths of disability, my body’s shutting down, and it’s hard to hold my tears from falling.
I’m giving up.
Aren’t I?
No, don’t mistake emotion for weakness or signs of submission. I’m capable of dealing with adversity, of coping with pain, of creating acceptance of doubts undying presence. We all are. I still have the choice to choose where to place my thoughts. And that is something I must never forget, for that is power.
Part Three
I’ve been motionless for the majority of my days for five months now. Ironic, isn’t it, this was supposed to be the month I began to fund-raise for charity to help others, but here I am, in need of help more than ever before. But I’ve an illness without a cure, so I must become my own saviour.
I’ve been quietly searching, silently seeking strength and crafting questions. I’ve been wondering, questioning the power of the mind. Mentality can either help or hinder recovery, of that I’m sure. But how much can it help? I’ve been wondering about placebos. What are they? Non-conscious shifts? If we can do it non-consciously, why can’t we do it consciously? Is it possible that a drastic change of mindset can initiate the healing process? Can deep focus significantly aid it? Is it possible that we possess the potential to heal ourselves?
Perhaps I’m designing delusions. But how many delusions have morphed into miracles? How many times has science transformed miracles into mere equations? And how many past impossibilities have become present realities? You’re reading my words on an electronic device in which you can not only talk to someone on the other side of the world, but you can see them too. Weren’t they once miracles?
Perhaps I can’t create a miracle, but I can make little adjustments. Maybe I don’t know the best way forward, but I do know that even the smallest actions can initiate positive change. I must focus on the few things left within my capability and refuse to let doubt become my disability. There’s no one thing that can cure me, but surely an accumulation of actions can soften my suffering.
With warmth,
Davey