I never thought it would be this hard to follow the rules. I know the rules; they've been drilled into my head for a some time now. I also know the consequences. And still somehow, with every beat of my heart, I find myself deviating from "the rules". I have to fight myself at every turn. But why? Why is it that my heart is telling me one thing and my head is telling me another? I have no clue.
These rules I'm talking about, they're the rules of recovery. The rules doctors, physical therapists, parents, and even friends have placed on me. The rules I looked my surgeon in the eye and promised him I would follow if he did this second surgery. It's something about myself I don't understand. I've always had this strange clash with authority. Even when I know that what they tell me is the right thing to do, I do the opposite simply because I was instructed, I was ordered, to do it. It's a side of me I really must learn to control.
What do I have to gain? By breaking the rules, I mean. I am no longer working under the harsh restraints I was last year. I have no coach breathing down my neck, threatening dismissal from the team if I'm not back in practice on so and so day and fit enough to run a silly fitness test. I have no teammates counting on me. I have no pressure whatsoever to break the rules. So why do I still want to? I've been fighting all of my silly rebel urges since the minute I woke up in the hospital on Thursday afternoon. What would happen if I unwrapped these bandages? I can take out my own stitches, right? How hard could it be? What if I showed up to my next doctors appointment without this big wrap on my ankle? Do casts melt? Man would I love to see the look on that doctors face.
And what do I have to lose? Everything, really. It makes no sense because I get so frustrated when I can't perform like I should on the field. When a stroll on the beach inflames my ankle for a week. When I step on an uneven sidewalk and my face contorts with pain. So WHY in God's name would I want to go down that road again? Because if I mess that up, that's exactly where I'm headed. If I don't listen to the people around me, the people who care about me and my future, there will have been no point in getting the surgery at all. I'll be permanently damaged. And I'll regret it. So why am I still popping tricks on my crutches, considering ripping the bandage that must weigh ten pounds off my ankle, hopping around the house instead of asking for help?
This leads me to the final question: what the hell is wrong with me? Why do I always have to prove that I'm the toughest? And the most hard-headed, if we're being honest. I guess I've been breaking the rules since my first injury at age 13, and it's become a habit. But it's a habit that should be easily broken with maturity, and while I consider myself to be mature, I still fall into the same routines I did as a kid. So what do I have to do to stop it?
