On Living: Lessons in Perspective

First, I do apologize for my lengthy absence on this blog.  Shortly after my last post prior to this one, I started feeling unwell.  I was tired a lot and just generally felt bad, but as I have a busy life in which I wear many hats I dismissed this overall lack of energy and just kept trying to keep moving forward.  Unlike all other episodes of tiredness brought on by overwork, though, this time I just couldn't rally.

Eventually I realized that my exhaustion was greater than a normal and acceptable level, and I scheduled an appointment for checkup.  As I waited for the date to roll around, new symptoms developed and I became gravely ill.  In truth, (and if you knew me well, which you might if you've read this blog, you would understand that I'm a bit of an under-exaggerater when it comes to pain, so for me to have admitted this to my DH is HUGE,) I thought I was having a heart attack.  Sweating and shaking with chest pain and my pulse hovering at between 130 and 150 beats per minute, we went to an urgent care doctor about five weeks ago for help.  Eventually we figured out the problem was severe hyperthyroidism.

Ironically, the underlying disease that's causing this is the only actual disease that I am 100% certain that my NM has - all the others she claims are the sort of vaporously undiagnosable and untreatable diseases that any good prescription pill addict can manufacture at the drop of a prescription pad.  But this one, I saw the test results on this one and it's real, hereditary and now I - and the endocrinologist who diagnosed me - know that I'm going to be able to manage this.  I'll deal with it for the rest of my life, but hey, let's be honest, I've dealt with worse things just by being born into my F'd up family of origin!

During the process, though, I learned a lot about me and even more about who I am and what I love.  I'm thirty-five years old and in reasonably good health, so this was really the first time that I've had to entertain the reality of my mortality.  Talk about scary!

I spent a lot of time thinking about what kind of legacy I'm leaving to the people I love.  I spent a lot of time being consciously kind and saying things that matter out loud to the people who matter.  I spent as many hours as I could looking at the beauty in the faces and hearts of my friends and family.  I reached out to the wonderful friends I have that I don't talk to as much as I'd like, just to say hello and I love you and thank you for being you.  I hoped to feel better and to have more energy to create more cherished memories with these people I love and who love me.  I considered what I would regret, and realized that my only true regret was that it took me so long to wake up and get the hell away from the NFOO.

Other than that, I didn't waste a single fucking moment thinking about NM, ENF, NSis, GCYB or any of their minions, ancillaries, legions or flying monkeys.  I mean, let's be honest.  If the clock is running out, they just don't deserve any of my precious minutes.

This mental dismissal of  the Bad Uns was easy when I was counting seconds and being grateful for each one.  I recognized it for what it was at the time, and I made a conscious effort to hold on to that as I began to feel better.  So here I am, alive and kicking and with more energy than I've had in a long time, and I keep waiting to give a fuck about any member of the NFOO.  So far, zero is the number of fucks I give.

I'm not angry with them for treating me like a disposable slave.  I'm not going to pretend that I'm hoping they'll see the error of their ways and truly seek forgiveness from me.  I'm certainly not even entertaining the idea of ever talking to any of them again.  I'm not going to spout some nonsense about how I hope they have good lives without me in it.

Truly, from the bottom of my heart, I just don't care.  I've practiced detachment before - any Scapegoat who gets out from under the abusive family system has, for sure.  But this is really a new level of uber detachment.

I care about the NFOO - what they do, who they are, how they function, why they suck - as much as I care about the fictional cast of a fictional sitcom that I've never seen and didn't even know existed until right now.  Yep, about that much, and I care about the NFOO way less than I care about the cast of Gilligan's Island or The Brady Bunch.

If I die within the next few minutes, I will die secure in the knowledge that I went out placing Marsha, Marsha, Marsha and the Skipper above the abusive A-holes in my NFOO in the list of people I care about.

Life's short, hard-earned and rough and tumble.  The best of times are always less frequent than the worst of times, and that makes them all the more precious.  The life that they stole from me and hurt me with was full of darkness, fear, shame and downright awfulness.  This life I have now without them is bright, safe, open and fun.  It's also very precious and it's mine, and they just don't get one more damn second of it.

I'll write when I can, but I don't know how often that can be.  I'm awfully busy enjoying every single breath, and I hope beyond hope that you are too.  If you're 'out,' good for you and my advice is to stay as far 'out' as you can.  If you're trying to leave, do it now.  Life's too short to let them take any more of it away from you.  

Much love,
Vanci