Ignoring All the Signs

This is an archived post that was originally published at beyond-terminal.com

This wasn’t easy to write. Not like there have been easy passages. But this one? I can’t believe I just kept plodding along, thinking that I’d get different results without dramatically changing my approach.

Have you ever had those times in your life when you have a pretty good idea you’re walking into a trap but you don’t know what else to do? That’s where I was. Basically, I ran toward the fire, not away from it.

At this stage, I didn’t know how to listen to my gut. I also was still programmed to seek out options that a pre-sick Megan would have considered regardless of how I was feeling in that particular moment. I still was fragmented.

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This passage picks up after I had worked the school year as a para. I had found this job rewarding and not too challenging on my body. For the first time in a long time, I was feeling pretty good, so much so that I started letting down my guard (some). In doing so, I was in my first long-term relationship and having so much fun that I did prioritize my goals (e.g., biofeedback).

I ended up applying to Ph.D. programs in Clinical Psychology and then was terrified to find out that I actually had been accepted to one. What had I done? It’s not like my body was magically fixed after four sessions of biofeedback. And I had a boyfriend I didn’t want to leave.

But with an unfixed body and a broken heart, I left for California.

Starting a six-year program in this condition was stupid. But I was on a conveyor belt, and I didn’t realize that there were moments when I could call a time-out. Further, I feared being idle and had built my whole identity around succeeding through trying, trying – and then trying harder.

Who was I to call it quits before I even started?

And yet. Had I bothered to check out the School of Psychology where most of my classes would be held ahead of time like any smart student would have done? No. Another stupid decision on my part.

It turned out that the School of Psychology, with all its concrete and tiny, eyes-at-half-mast windows, looked just like a squashed down version of The Hospital where I had spent way too much of my childhood.

My parents, Peter, and I drive to The Hospital. I don’t always take a close look at The Hospital, but today I do. It’s huge and ugly, with lots of concrete and tiny windows. Just like the weather, it feels cold.

Once I get to a room on the pediatric floor, my mom helps me get into one of those gross tie-in-the-back gowns. I feel so scared. My parents haven’t told me much about these procedures – a spinal tap and bone marrow biopsy – although I know they somehow involve needles. I wonder if Peter senses how scared I am, because he tells a couple of jokes. He’s the only one who still can make me laugh. It’s not lost on me that he carries a heavy weight too.

After about ten minutes, two people, dressed in blue, come into my room and say that they’re ready for me. Before I leave with the blue people, my parents hug and kiss me, and Peter, in classic form, tells one last parting joke. 

As I’m wheeled down the hallway, I use my remaining strength to lift up my head so that I can keep my family in view as long as possible. 

As I looked at the School of Psychology, I had the image of The Hospital – and all of the experiences that happened while I was there – in my head and I just couldn’t shake it. Although I rationally knew that I was standing in front of a different building – in a different state no less! – I felt like I had metamorphosed on the spot into my 11-year-old self and was being forced to enter The Hospital…for another appointment another test another brain scan another procedure another therapy session.

I was furious with myself. Any person with half a brain would have done more due diligence. Any person with half a brain wouldn’t still be left paralyzed by memories, just memories, all these years later.

I felt stuck. No, more than stuck. I felt like I was sinking, and I hadn’t even started classes. But because I was the person who ignored all warning signals, I didn’t say anything.

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How do we accept things we wished wouldn’t have happened? How do we accept the things that we don’t have control over?

For me, one of my first steps was acknowledging what had happened had actually happened. Actually giving voice to it. Yes, pushing it away was easier for a while…but it also created so much more upheaval in the long run.

People develop lots of coping mechanisms when they’re in denial. I took to running. Others drink and do drugs. Others cheat. Arguably running is healthier than other coping mechanisms. Yet you will learn in a future blog post that I eventually develop insomnia when I’m not running as much as I once was. In this state of restlessness, I’m finally pushed to the brink and forced to confront my mental anguish as it relates to my childhood illness.

Have you been resistant to confronting what was right there in front of you? This is another area that I hope to tap into because I imagine, while our circumstances may look different, this is a common theme in many people’s lives.