I started rehab. No, not for my intimate relationship with alcohol, but for an old shoulder injury. The doctor twisted my arm in every which way, pushed it and pulled it then came up with one conclusion:
“You are not strong enough to hold yourself together.”
You have no idea.
She was referring to the muscles in my shoulder and back, which weakened when I broke my collarbone a year ago and could no longer hold my arm in the correct place. Of course, there was more complicated medical jargon and a plastic replica shoulder involved, but those words stood out.
In the past month I have learned the meaning of loss: First a friend, then a job and now a pet. Almost strategically spaced, so by the time I clawed myself out of a hole a grief another tragedy threw me back in.
I am not strong enough to hold myself together (a month of silence, tears and drinking until I forgot the pain proved that), but I am strong enough to push myself forward.
