If for some reason you are ever rendered incapable of doing much of anything, you will likely know the insecurity and restlessness that goes with it.
Insecurity, because as people we have so much of our perceived worth wrapped up in what we do. Our capabilities, responsibilities, and hobbies are what make us who we are. When we are no longer able to take on those things, we are left with little left to talk about, and find it painfully difficult to relate with those who are busy doing things.
You have a sense that you are existing more than living, and that is an incredibly difficult feeling. I wrote last year of this experience:
And some had easy laughter
And a carefree kind of sway,
They flittered and they fluttered,
Humming through the day.
“What have I to offer?”
The bruised reed said
From the ground,
“The glory’s gone over my head
But I am sinking down.
Up above the light is shining,
Sweet perfume fills the air,
But down here is decaying,
And an awful load of care.”
There is a potentially crippling sense that because you are not accomplishing things you are not valuable, nor are you even interesting.
I say restless, because we are used to doing things and being busy, and when life becomes slow and monotonous, all the hours rolling into one, it is easy to be anxious. But a sadder thing happens when you are stuck in that place for a long period of time. You accept your current reality and even if you are able to hope for improvement, when that hope is a long way off (even weeks or months), it is a dreadful wait. You begin to look forward to nothing more than going to sleep at night, and perhaps, if things are particularly bad, even night does not bring relief. Continue reading