Ten Fingers

Maybe I should have consulted someone before I quit taking my antidepressants cold turkey.
I just figured since I’m disease free and don’t need steroids any longer and therefore I don’t need sleep pills I might as well give up the Xanax and the Zoloft too.
Wasn’t counting on the mood swings.
I just saw Tina, my occupational therapist. First visit back post transplant.
I am stronger, faster and can measure a pinch for the first time. All good but the fingers are still bent. She commented that they look the same. I haven’t seen her in five months. I suddenly felt a pang of defensiveness. Like my fingers are ten special needs kids that all just do whatever the hell they want to do, not what is asked.
But, they are mine and I’d like to believe they are better.
God this is hard.
I told her I can fasten and unfasten my bra.
I haven’t done that in two years and three months.
I list all the things I can do as if to distract her from the fact my fingers will not straighten at will or make the symbol for “okay” the number four or zero.
I can’t even shoot the bird.
So here I go on the teeter totter that is my life these days.
Vacillating between happy and pissed. Frustrated and proud. Annoyed and grateful.
I used to keep a gratitude journal.
I would write a list of five things I was grateful for every night and keep it by my bed.
Maybe I should return to the practice.
Maybe I should start with one thing I am grateful for a day, so I won’t get

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