Well, this feels a little tight.
Back in that sterile room, inside the MRI tube, my mind couldn’t help but stray to darker places. Thoughts of mortality, of bodies being consumed by fire – they haunted me, uninvited but persistent. I tried to shake them off, to focus on the task at hand, but they lingered like shadows in the corners of my mind.
Lorick’s body, going through cremation – it was a macabre image that I couldn’t seem to shake. I know it’s terrible, but in those moments of vulnerability, my mind seemed determined to dwell on the morbid. “Pull your shit together, girl,” I chided myself, trying to regain control over my thoughts.
As I lay in that MRI tube, the cacophony of noises reverberating around me. I forced myself to a place of introspection rather than the current morbid, dark, mind trap. Each clank and hum seemed to punctuate the silence, amplifying the whirlwind of thoughts swirling through my mind.
Leaving my job at the local YMCA, where I had dedicated 17 years as a director of health and wellness, had been a pivotal moment in my life. It was a decision born out of necessity, a chance to reclaim my sense of self after years of feeling like a piece of my soul had been chipped away. But amidst the chaos of new beginnings, there was solace to be found in the simple act of lying still, cocooned within the confines of that MRI machine.
For two hours, I surrendered to the discomfort, the uncertainty, and the relentless noise. It was a test of endurance, both physically and mentally, as I grappled with the urge to move, to escape the confines of my own body. But in that moment of vulnerability, I confronted the darkest corners of my mind – the morbid thoughts, the nagging sense of victimhood that threatened to consume me.
Here’s something you need to know about me: I refuse to be a victim. Sure, one could argue that I qualify, given my struggles with chronic pain. But I simply cannot abide by that “poor me” victim mentality. I’ve seen too many people succumb to it, drowning in self-pity and complaints while simple solutions sit within reach.
I refuse to be one of those individuals who just bitch and moan about their problems without taking action. Yes, life throws curveballs, and yes, sometimes the pain feels insurmountable. But I’ve always been a fighter, a believer in finding solutions rather than wallowing in despair.
“Pull your shit together!” I whispered to myself, a mantra born out of necessity. How could I help those who relied on my strength if I succumbed to self-pity? The answer became clear as I focused on the task at hand – to remain still, to endure, and to emerge on the other side with a newfound sense of clarity and purpose.
Inside the tube, amidst the chaos and the clamor, I confronted my own darkness and emerged stronger for it. With a renewed appreciation for the fragility of life and the resilience of the human spirit. No matter what the next chapters of my health journey held, I knew I would be okay. I belonged to something greater than myself – a force that would carry me through even the darkest of days. And for that, I am endlessly grateful.
The Dish by Deni 