The tandava has begun

I remember years ago, waking one day with an enormous pain through my body, being unable to walk, to sit still, to be scared, calling my parents and going to the doctor only to be prescribed painkillers. That day of 2021 my life changed. Little I knew how much was I about to suffer.

A pleyad of doctors came after that without any solution besides stronger painkillers and burning money. I was unable to train like I did for so many years. I started gaining weight, hating myself for the situation I was in and the pressure it put onto me to resolve it, as no one seemed to care.

From this dark night whose end is about to come, I want to bring two remembrances:

The first, was me, almost blind and drugged due to the myriad of medicines I was taking, after going to a college exam with a friend of mine carrying me and passing it out of sheer will, lying in two chairs while answering through voice the questions. That night I was desperated, I was almost consumed by the madness this kind of situation can bring into a join adult. There was no clear answer besides a risky surgery. And I, surrendered. Not in the terms of piece I've been discussing for a month, but in the "I am weak and uncapable and I need a miracle to carry on because I'm seriously considering to kill myself" way. I called upon a God I had forgotten, and made a bargain: "heal me and I will come closer to you, I will know you, I will become a zealot of your name. I am not able to get throught his, I am absolutely overwhelmed. Either heal me or smite me, but do not let me stranded, I will cut my  long hair as an offering (which for me meant a symbol of freedom and identity as I wasn't allowed to have it when I was under 18).". And after crying and screaming, I crawled from the floor to my bed, and went to sleep.

The next morning my father called me, telling me that he found out about a physiotherapist (pt from now on) that had a real weird method but that could work, and so we scheduled a meeting. What recieved me was far from what I had  imagine, a small olive-skin all-tatooed affective and kind woman who just told me to get into the 9 square meters torture chamber where things would change. The method was simple: Your muscles are heavily strained, we have to literally break them for them to recover their original shape and way of functioning. As for your back, just let me do my thing. And I screamed in agony while the healing happened. I remember, overjoyed, how I was able to walk straigth again, still painful, but straight nontheless. After that the Odisey of recovering started; other professionals involved, harm done, ups, downs, etc. But that spark of light made me regain hope, and lighted the blaze my faith would become, a blaze so bright it would consume my whole self and create one anew where it would be a fundamental part of it.

The second tale goes as it follows:

Before the therapist, one night I lost the hability to feel on both my legs. Scared as fuck I called crying home, and my father went straight to pick me up on a 200 km roadtrip at 1 am. He stayed with me during 16 hours straight, without moving, drinking water, or eating. He brought me to two hospitals, argued with the doctors to provide a solution, he gave his all in his own way. We never had a good relationship, maybe because we are similar in some ways and the stubbornness that defines us it's the same thing that makes us clash; we do not share big words, we even rarely talk, and at that moment the relationship was kinda dead due to the profound resentment I had due to the music career thing.

Still, he didn't care. He just came. He cared about me, not with loving words nor hugs (I can remember myself waking up after getting a some drugs through vein and trying to hug him and he refusing), but witht the only thing he has, his whole self.

If I have to thank this illness for something, is letting me know I am loved, unconditionally, recklessly, and that I also want to replicate that love onto my loved ones; stubborn, maybe clumsy, but unconditional. This person, alongside many others, gave his life for me to be where I am; weekends waking up at 4 am, working two jobs when I was little, giving up their health to provide an economical environment where I could, somehow, flourish. Being able to understand this, to forgive them for their mistakes and to love my parents profoundly, even if the relationship isn't the best, is a grace I've been given.

Today was the big day, I woke up at 6 to take a shower and do some paperwork before picking up the car for a 2 hour roadtrip to the very same pt that started my recovery, absolutely convinced that this would be a breaking point. I came inside the torture room, hopeful, full of convition, and words started pouring from my mouth; I started doing yoga poses and explaining muscle pain and muscle relationships, sympthoms and such, and she understood perfectly, and began noting down as she treated me. The pain was excruciating. I felt like I was going blank with gritting my teeth and closing my eyes to endure. I felt like my legs would tear apart. But I had to endure, I was willing to endure. That pain was the very reason I went there.

I came out there victorious, plethoric, grinning, with a sense of happiness I couldn't remember. That was it, everything was registered, the muscles were prepared for the next change. I did the thing out of stubborness, of refusal to accept the crippling state and retard doctors who told me that woul be a life-long issue, of defiance towards a God that asked for patinece and endurance. I wrestled, and I got my blessing, and a mental scar as a limp. Fair.

On may 15th I have an appointment with my podiatrist to implement the needed changes. I have high spirits about that. I have faith it will go as planned.

I won.

Fire rained from the sky, now the tandava continues until the yuga is over.