i don't even want to talk about it.

I am desperately tired of this holding pattern. It's soaked into every part of my life, tainting everything I do. I can't draw or think or write. I don't even know why I am trying to write a blog entry, except I wanted to write every week and I haven't been. 

It's hard to tell if I'm numb or okay with my fate (whatever it may be) or in denial about the seriousness of my situation.  I don't want to talk about it anymore. I don't want to think about it. Not because it's too sad or horrifying or frightening but because I'm just so damn tired of the focal point of my whole stupid life being about how ungood I feel, healing from traumatic surgeries, and wondering when I will get the opportunity to subject myself to the horrific procedure that will either kill me, seriously harm me, or vastly improve my quality of life. My adventurous spirit is aching, a bird trapped and flapping in my ribcage. 2012 was all pain and waiting and boredom. By the end, I could see exactly what I care about the most as clear as if they were lit up on a stage and it is obvious to me now that I have spent a lot of time being afraid to commit my energy to my priorities. All I want to do now is throw myself into them and it took being miserable and scared to figure that out. Embarrassing. What's done is done, though, and now all I can think about is how uninterested I am in devoting any more time to this drawn-out uncertainty. I need something to happen before my brain shuts down entirely.