A thought on witnessing and awareness...
Time after time, I see how my right hand is withering. How every day it seems to be able to do less and less... How I type next to "only" with my left hand, fever watching the screen, instead staring at the keyboard because I'm already making enough errors as it is, at least this way (staring at the keyboard) I catch the errors as they are made. Mostly.
But what I don't witness is success. Instead of seeing "I managed to do X" I see "Doing X used to be possible and now it isn't." It's the classic "Is the glass half full or half empty?" question... I would probably be happier to see "I was able to X well enough to achieve Y" rather than fixating on "I should be able to X, I used to be able to X, and now I can't."
Man, attachment is indeed a subtle trap...
Yesterday I found myself musing on My Old Life, at the place I used to work and even called home, and I remembered This Thing... This particular memory used to pull me down the rabbit hole of fury, of offense, of rage; but that particular time, reminiscing was very quiet. "Yeah, I think I am still pissed at that." That's as bad as it got. "Better?" I suppose, and certainly "better" simply by being honest with myself, but I guess I'm still stuck there. Not as virulently as I used to be, but attached is attached, and letting go for real is letting go for real.
It's very interesting what angers me and what doesn't. Being in the Cath Club doesn't bother me. Being in a regular (if you can use that word) relationship with Dulcolax doesn't bother me. Being unable to play or even sit at the organ doesn't bother me like it used to. Being wheelchair-bound doesn't bother me; maybe it's being good at navigating it... But the "hand stuff" is really getting to me. Being unable to type. Being unable to deal with a "piano-style" keyboard, even for data entry, really bothers me. Having problems operating the mouse really bothers me. Having such poor control over my legs that they "pretzel up" and lock each other up when all I'm trying to do is to get them under a sheet, or trying to get them underneath me in the wheelchair (or any chair) really bothers me.
My spiritual advisor would demand not "What do you think," but "What do you feel?" And that, I can't answer. Whatever I feel is buried so deep that I can't even describe it shoddily. Well, that's more work, I guess, and Ram Dass would (probably) suggest that I should thank this difficulty simply for being there to each me a lesson.
And thus MS gives its gifts. There was NO OTHER WAY TO GET YOUR ATTENTION so I had to try this!
And it's gonna keep pissing you (me) off until you (I) learn what is necessary. The neurological nonsense may never abate, but "taking affect" from it, as my Spiritual Guy would say, that's another matter. As Ram Dass would say, that's on me.
So again, MS has set a gift before me. Which is gonna sit there and keep pissing me off until I receive the gift as offered.
Clearly... new homework.