The Oake Raven

This was the actual conversation with my husband last night:

Husband: “Tell me again–what are you allergic to?”

Me: “Sulfa meds and fire ants.”

Husband: “Things ✍️ from ✍️ hell. ✍️ Got it. And you have _____ and ____, and this disease, and that one, and the _____*goes on and on* …

…and you’re overly happy despite all of it.”

Me: “Well, being cranky won’t make it all go away so why not laugh while I can?”

Then suddenly, I had a moment (after crying and wheezing from laughing for 5 min through this conversation).

Me: “I was caged for half of my life and I got out. I don’t want to cage myself back in with diagnoses or self-judgment.”

The conversation started hilarious. It was just us talking about our aging and the list of things I have going on with my body due to all of the years of being in that “caged” life of stress and anxiety and hopelessness before I left the community. And I ended up falling asleep thinking about how I could make all the complaints in the world. I could get on disability. I could demand accommodations be made for me everywhere I go. But I don’t need to. I have healthy coping mechanisms to work through the worst of it without someone putting a label on me. But besides that, why should I focus on everything going wrong inside of me? I can focus on just as much joy and beauty outside of me.

There is no amount of thinking that can make the ramifications of my early life choices and experiences go away. There is no medicine that can “fix” what I have going on because of trauma. I got here because of the life that I’ve lived this far, and that’s the reality of it.

All of the illnesses and struggles I carry are spilled ink, seeped and stained into the pages of the story of my life here as “Diana.” They cannot and will not be wiped away–not with chemicals in medicine, not with sympathy from others, and not with my tears. So instead, I choose to focus on the adventures in this story and the possibilities–with those ink stains hovering in the corner of my eyes. Sure they may draw me away from the story at times when things hurt or I’m extra tired, but the adventure is always there to go back to…Until the story is done, the book closes, and it’s put away and forgotten.

(Or, “Until I’m dead,” for the more pragmatic readers)

The thing is, pain will always be there for me, whether I look for it or not. It’s a symptom of my mortality. As soon as I accepted that, I became functional through discomfort and able to work through just about anything–physical pain, mental strain, and emotional turmoil.

In the end, being “overly happy despite all of it” is an active choice I make every day. Why? Because I was caged for half of my life and I got out. Now, I have the freedom to choose what to be, when before, I didn’t have a choice for anything at all. Choosing anger, resentment, or feebleness of character is just putting up new bars around me.

I choose the adventure.

Diana Cael Robertson

Note: this is about my specific auto immune and mental health issues that came from years of chronic stress, chronic anxiety, and adrenal crises after adrenal crises–not naturally occurring health issues. I am fully aware that not every health issue can be approached with this mentality. This is about personal power and overcoming limitations, not ableism.