Lost-ish

My head is swirling right now.

Psychocross season has started and I jumped in head first...right into an addiction, it seems. I love it. Two things have fucked this right up for me:

1. The robbery that happened in the lot at practice sends me into a panic attack almost every time I arrive. I have to throw up. I shake. I don't even park in the lot anymore, but passing it starts the mess immediately. I feel like "they" are hiding watching me practice so that while I am gone they can take what is left of my stuff. I hate that I have let it affect me. It has brought up old panic from violations past. It super sucks. Last night was the first time I got to relax at practice because it was rainy, wet and muddy...and cold, so I knew those pussy-assed, lazy effing thieves wouldn't be hiding anywhere outside. I had a fantastic practice and was sorry to see it end.

2. On top of that, I started feeling really physically bad last week. I assumed it was nerves at the start of cx racing and the fact that my first race would take place in WI (where I have never raced) and in front of a boy (a badass racer) whom I dig. No teammates would be there. Just me, the boy, my bike, and what I thought were my nerves. I tanked my race. I had the most awful stabbing pains, my heart rate was not at it's normal racing pace, and no amount of pain relief actually relieved the pain. I tried to smile, but I am pretty sure the boy thought I was constipated.

I woke up Sunday (still in WI) surfing the crimson wave. Fantastic. (Oh yeah! How ya like me now, baby?) OY! Regardless, I was hellbent on having a great time, and we did. We hit the MTB trails in the cold and I truly enjoyed watching him ride. I however, struggled...with the pain and with how much to tell him about said pain, but rode on. He knew. I am apparently not a good faker. (Wait that made me think of something else and I have to giggle.) My one accomplishment that ride was apparently making it upright without putting my foot down through something called "The Litter Box". Uphill and sand is all I will say there.

*smirk*

Anyway, as I drove home Monday morning in an amazing amount of pain (and a bit loopy from that/Aleve/too little sleep), I started to feel the "warm wateries" of impending vomit. In the beginning, I would pull over and vomit. Then I ran out of napkins and had to make actual stops. I had had coffee. That had to be out by the first vomit, so imagine how fun the subsequent vomitfests actually were. NOT! Halfway home I stopped to get a sugar-and-hell-laced orange Hi-C from McFatties to help balance my sugar and spinning head. (Note: Hi-C burns when coming out of your nose!)

I got back to The Lou in time for a meeting and continued my day feeling like absolute ass. For some reason, I went to cross practice. (I have issues, dude.) It seemed to give me the charge I needed. I think I needed to not suck after Saturday's race. It helped. The next day, I went to work and felt pretty happy about things, but really tired. Then I got nauseous. Then I started tossing cookies again. Then the blood started. Straight to the medical center, many tests and a few days later and I am looking at potential issues that I cannot beat the crap out of anyone for. I am no longer taking in solids and have to repair my body.

I am at a loss. I am a quality v. quantity girl. I would rather die today on my bike than live to 100 in a bed pissing and shitting myself with people taking care of me.

I am told that I am selfish. What about my children?

What about them?

My children love me. They know (not think) that I love them.

My children would never understand a mommy who laid in bed being sick.

My children would never understand a mommy who didn't play hard, with them or with her bikes.

My children will never remember a mommy who laid there and did nothing.

I will never understand the selfishness of people who would rather me be alive and miserable and in excruciating physical pain because they cannot bear the pain (what pain?), than to see me alive for whatever amount of time happy and loving life.

When it's your turn to fight, you can fight however you want, and I will be there to support you...in one way or another. This is my fight. Put it in perspective.

Don't waste your time (or mine) being angry at me because I am not doing what you wish I would. Life's too short.

Hmmmm... I guess I'm not really lost. I'm right here.