A few years ago I came across this picture when I was in a depressive state and brought it to my shrink. I told her I saw it and thought longingly of when I was 12. And then I thought, "What am I talking about? I hated being 12. I didn't have any friends. And who likes being 12 anyway?" But at least I had Friday afternoons to look forward to. At least on Friday afternoons I felt like that. "Why can't I feel like that?"
Since I've started riding again I've also started physical therapy again. And picked up a massage therapist along the way. Riding always hurt, but this was unreal. I've really let myself go over the last 2-3 years. I've never fully regretted this decision, my slow decline in physical mobility was brought on by an increase in independence. I think only wheelchair users can fully understand this.
Except that if someone had put it as simply as "all that sitting on your butt you're doing, and all that laying in bed you're doing because you're keeping yourself depressed [I believe that a person can't make themselves depressed, but by not using strategies you know work, you can most certainly keep yourself depressed] you're shortening your already shortened muscles so much that eventually you'll never be able to ride a horse again," I might have thought differently. I think I caught it just in time. I don't care if I can walk, I'm so over that, but I do care if I can ride a horse.
Someone asked me recently why I'm putting myself through all of this. If I'm in as much pain as I say I'm in why don't I just not go. Because I don't know the last time I felt like this.
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