spinning my wheels
There was a time I could no longer fit behind the steering wheel of a car, my girth was too much for the space between the wheel and the back of the seat. I had already broken the seat and we put an old green pickle bucket behind the drivers side wedged down so the seat would not collapse completely under my weight. No longer would the two seat belt extenders fastened together reach the other side.
My freedom was gone.
It was not just my freedom that was at stake, I was the only driver in my family at that time with my father being legally blind and my mother not having her license, it was my responsibility to make sure I could fit behind the wheel. I thought about that time in my life today walking back to my office after Lindsey and I squeezed in a lunchtime walk around downtown. I thought about how I became a prisoner in my own body. At that time I could not escape the smothering reminders everyday that my body was slowly killing me. I found myself with tears in my eyes so grateful I can now walk with ease, that I do not feel eyes of judgement upon me, and that no one calls after me unleashing the cruel ammunition which shredded my dignity, and most importantly as I walk past the crowds of people rushing back to work, I hold my head up high now, looking people in the eyes, and smiling.
I try not to think of the past too much, I try to focus on the here and now and all the things I am grateful for in my life. There are times, the memories and magnitude of what my life was like will not loosen it’s grip until I take a step back and acknowledge the moments that dance in the dark shadows of my mind. I am not the same person, and when I question it, all I have to do is look down.