1. I can’t curl the toes on my left foot. Literally cannot do it. I sit and stare at them, willing them to move the way I want them to, and they won’t do it.

2. I don’t know if my body remembers what a natural walking motion is supposed to feel like. 

3. I am more broke than I’ve ever been in my “adult” life, and the prospect of finding a paying job for about a month and a half is so much worse than bleak.

4. I’m terrified that I won’t make it back to normal. That I’m not only going to have this incision scar for the rest of my life, but I’m going to keep the limp in my gait and the constant worries of causing a setback with a single wrong move.

5. I’m scared of coming off as weak. I’m tired of people treating me like a delicate flower, I’m tired of my mother doting on me, gasping every time I take a step. I want people to think that I’m tough, that this is nothing.

6. Of course, because of thing number 5, I’m afraid to let these fears out. So I ramble them to the anonymous internet, subconsciously hoping someone is listening, but really rambling for my own benefit. This is just how I deal with things: I get them out in private and then try to go on with my life. But I’m starting to worry that I’ve chosen the wrong method all these years.