There are evident days in which I know that the illness is progressing for the worse. Bits of uncontrollable upper body movements are becoming increasingly apparent, as of late. Yesterday it was a cup I couldn't hold steady. Small things, but they add up into something I can't unsee. I know that it's here. It's like the illness announces itself, in case I haven't remembered to recognize it enough.
What's the inclusion of something positive going to do, really? I have to accept fate. It's my only option, I feel. Accepting it doesn't feel like peace — it feels like giving up the argument. But it doesn't mean that my remaining years will be spent focusing solely on the negative aspects. There's still the people who stay close. The work still in front of me. Ordinary mornings that don't ask anything of me yet.
Will it continue to decline? Probably. Will I be prepared for it? I certainly hope so. The illness will keep announcing itself. I don't have to keep flinching at it.