Months ago, when I learned that Katie was going to be attending a symposium in Washington, DC, I decided that it would be a lovely time to pay a visit to my friend who is conveniently attending law school there. Then came the stress fractures that ruined my life, and I thought I wouldn’t be able to go… but when I realized that it was going to be the same weekend as the New York City Marathon, I decided that staying home would be infinitely more painful.
As it turns out, the world must have some sort of vendetta against me, because there are so many runners in DC; I was practically tripping over them every time I turned around, so much so that I may as well have just stayed home and been a marathon spectator. Except that then I wouldn’t have gotten to meet the absolutely lovely Katie, which is the one bright spot in an otherwise bleak period.
It’s not like I was going to run the marathon this year, anyway; I wouldn’t have had enough time to train for it. Even though it doesn’t seem to matter whether I train “properly” or not, since I end up in the same place no matter what I do. But I was planning to do it next year, and even that is pretty unlikely at this point.
I passed by a woman in a wheelchair yesterday; she had no legs. Words cannot express how indescribably guilty that made me feel — I have legs, albeit ones attached to a body that will just keep breaking — according to Dr. Tissues, which is the name accorded to the “specialist” who handed me a box of tissues and walked out of the room because she thought I was going to cry. And you know, if not for that appointment, I wouldn’t be as horribly depressed as I am, because it feels like it’s getting better; I can almost walk normally now. But since it doesn’t matter if or when this heals, since I’m just going to get screwed over and over and over again, I’m not going to bother looking for the bright side of this situation.
The not-so-bright (AKA, honest) side of it is that this hurts. I don’t mean physically, either, in this case; but I don’t think an EKG was necessary, because I already know my heart is broken. Everywhere I turn, people are experiencing great “big” races, and I can’t even get one. I guess you could say that I’m jealous.
I’m also freaking exhausted; I didn’t use Dr. Tissues’ tissues, but I do feel like bursting into tears every second of every day. I probably would, if I were the crying sort. But it is so tiring to pretend not to feel like that all day, because, well, nobody likes to be around depressed people, as my “best friend” enlightened me all those years ago. Speaking of which, a few of my high school friends wanted to go out for dinner this week. I do not have the energy to pretend to be happy for them, I really don’t. I have to do that all day at work, and that’s more than enough for me.
Maybe this is just indicative of my complete inability to sustain a normal relationship, but I have to say — this hurts more than actually having my heart broken in the traditional sense. After that, I thought that if I don’t let my happiness hinge on someone else, I would be immune to such things… but I guess I was wrong. It looks like I’m just not entitled to anything that makes me happy at all.