Wallowing in Despair: Did I Tear My Quadriceps Tendon or My Mind?

I howl with rage and despair, just like this dog. Despair_by_FluffleNeCharkaI fear this post will be a variation on a familiar theme, if not outright repetitious; consider yourself warned.

Some days I think the mental toll of my injury is far worse than the physical. Little things that ordinarily wouldn’t trouble me, emotionally – you know, those days when things don’t seem to go your way – do trouble me when coupled with my infirmity.

Little things like the one ATM near my apartment being out of order. Little things like the fact that the hot plate I bought is actually an induction cooker, and will only work with special cookware, rendering useless the pot and pan I already own. Little things like sweeping the two main rooms of my apartment – because it takes a half hour instead of 5 minutes. Little things like the fact that ants got into my crackers, despite the fact that they were still in the original packaging. Little things like the fact that I’m supposed to be on a trip in Northern Thailand right now, since I have a week off from school for Tet. the Vietnamese celebration of the lunar new year – instead I’m stuck in a two-thirds empty Sai Gon with a busted leg.

Okay, that last one is perhaps not a small thing. But all these things by themselves would ordinarily be no big deal – at least not cause for a depressive episode. But combine them with the functional loss of your right leg for the near future, and a bad day becomes a black day. Add up several black days in a week and combine that with a diagnosed predilection for depression and you go to a pretty dark place sometimes. Well, I have, at any rate.

Fortunately or unfortunately, stubbornness prevents me from doing any of the things I find myself contemplating in dusty, little-used recesses of my mind in these dark moments. As I’ve noted in an earlier post, that would feel too much like capitulation – like letting a bastard Universe – God(s)? Karma? Fate? – asshole that is is, whatever it is – win. I’m much too angry these days for that. I refuse to yield.

Bless my Scottish ancestry.

As for physical recovery from my quadriceps tendon tear, I can bend my leg about 40 degrees now. And there was much rejoicing.

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