And I'm fuming about this, and fuming about this, for quite literally by-the-clock hours.
And suddenly, I ask myself, "Why is this 'mine'?" The words I keep coming to in my inner rage are, "But it's WRONG!" Not morally wrong, mind you: intellectually wrong. But rather than ask myself why I'm so hung up on its intellectual correctness, I ask myself, "Why is this 'mine'? Why am I trying to own this? To protect it as vehemently as though it were my child? Why is this MY PROBLEM???"
And I didn't, and don't, have an answer.
Now... I don't rage against the MS. I don't rage against the loss of muscle control. The lack of energy. The inability of anyone to do anything for me. Just today, I noticed a sudden worsening in the control of my left leg. Not good... but I've got no anger there. It just... is.
But an issue that, honestly, isn't really my problem...and in all honesty, the problem is something that I can't "solve" any more than I can "solve" my MS... but howling at and about the incorrectness, and my rage at said incorrectness, I'm attached to. Vehemently.
Funny thing, attachment. We pick the strangest things to attach to, and we fight so furiously to maintain, and even strengthen, that attachment.
Another short sentence that's surprisingly hard to say: "Not my problem." Not as denial, but as a simple statement of fact: The floor is carpeted. My shirt is green. This is not my problem.
MS makes things hard enough. I wonder why I work so hard to add more difficulties to my life...
Funny thing, attachment.