I'm recovering from the holidays right now. It was my first serious Holiday Season since being diagnosed, and it was more of a shock than I expected it to be. Last year, we were in Albuquerque and my parents came to visit. This year we were back in Oregon, living with my parents, surrounded in family. I had thought that would be a supportive environment for recovery, but through my own experience and reading more and more accounts of people like me, it turns out that this situation is so far from idyllic. However, that season is over, and I'm finally starting to feel like "me" again. Rather, like the "me" that I've been developing over the past six months or so. Little things make me happy, like the way my tinted lip balm lasts all day. Or the way it matches so prettily with the thread I bought for my new skirt. Even how much I love the perpetually grey sky here, after being bombarded with sun in the desert. As I sat at my desk after nearly a month confined to the couch in my bedroom, I couldn't help but stare up at the little trinity of colors collected on my windowsill. It felt good to be sitting up fully, getting some natural (read: grey) light, and thinking about colors again.
The exacerbations are bad, but the sweetness of coming back to life afterwards is pretty alright too.