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[personal profile] beccavox
This was the summer of Max.

I have seen Mad Max: Fury Road a total of twenty-one twenty-two times at the local theaters. I'm coming out of five years of debilitating illness (a combo of Crohn's and Interstitial Cystitis) that left me unable to do activities that were physically difficult. You know, like walking and stuff.

I refused to be beaten by my illness when it came to seeing Max on the opening night. I waited thirty years for this movie; I wasn't going to let anything stand in my way. But here's the really, really good thing...

I'm feeling better. A change in medication (and diet) near the end of the spring semester has helped me start to get my life back. I can do basic house cleaning without needing to lay down every twenty minutes. I can take the garbage to the curb without collapsing in the driveway (which happened one night...it was too late for any neighbors to see, but all the neighborhood cats were talking about it for weeks). I can go out with friends and not have to leave the restaurant far too early. I'm feeling like me again.

While I'm not running any races--and definitely not running yet, at all--I'm gaining strength and I'm gaining motivation. And some of that came from Max.

As I started to feel better, I found myself going back to see the movie over and over. I've already written about my history with this franchise (see earlier post), so it wasn't surprising that I'd want to see it more than once. But every time I watched those characters find hope in the wasteland, every time I saw women who had battled for equality and independence, and every time I saw Max remember who he was, I felt a part of myself breathe a little more deeply.

My dad always had faith in me. He once told me that he was awed by my strength in dealing with a chronic illness (and he said this as he started to wither away from cancer), and he said he knew that I would be okay. We bonded over car chases and questionable fashion choices with the first three Mad Max movies. But we always had hope.

Maybe I'd forgotten what hope felt like. Maybe that's why I couldn't stop going to see this movie.
"Where must we go, we who wander this wasteland. In search of our better selves?" is the coda; white letters on the black background. I have to find my better self -- whatever that means -- so that I don't lose hope again.
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August 2016

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