Three things I really hate about vertigo.
The last time I wasn't dizzy, was January, 2006. For it was near the end of that month that I fell, bonked my head and did something impressively evil to my cerebellum.
The injury was the catalyst for my effort to make an album, and, while I don't want to whine, writing about the injury and its aftermath helps me cope, I think. And right now, I'm a little down and looking for a way to cope. So bring on the nouns and vowels.
The single most difficult aspect of my accident, by far, has been the constancy of the result. I mean, it's amazing, but I am always dizzy. Dizziness the first thing I feel waking up, the last thing I feel going to bed, and in between, it's strong enough that I am always aware of it.
Sadly, there is nothing to be done. No therapy seems to work, no drugs help, even time seems to be ineffective, although, I do confess, I feel better now than I did a few years ago.
Which brings me to the second toughest thing about my accident: there's no finish line, or at least not one I'm aware of. Doctors have said I could feel dizzy for months (ha!), years, decades, they don't know.
The third toughest thing (and after this, I'll shut up), is the unpredictability of my future. I mean, I could be better tomorrow, next year, or never. No amount of hope, or work, or magic will change this, which is really hard for me, since I hate feeling like I have no control over my life.
Regardless, I'm going to pick my sorry butt up off the couch now and go for a run (yes, I can run, which is a little weird, I admit). While on my run, I'm going to try to appreciate that it's a nice sunny day, that I live in a beautiful city, that I'm married to someone amazing, and that the wind will be at my back on my return.