Picture me and a snow covered mountain. The first day of my first ever snowboarding holiday. And for a first timer I was brilliant. I mean truly magnificent. My body, my board, the snow, the mountain, they worked together like a well-oiled machine. I even survived a nasty red slope. I was in control.

But then, after merely an hour and a half, my friends and I had reached the first chair lift. I’d dreamt of this before. My intuition was warning me. The art of getting out of the lift at the end was not doing anything at all. Just go with the flow, let yourself go, give over control to your board and the mountain. I panicked. I slithered. I fell. And ended up with a fractured wrist and a bruise filled with blood covering the entire back of my left hand.

My initial acting cool right after the accident faded rapidly. I surrendered to the panic around me. Friends freaking out on the weird alien resembling bulb on the back of my hand. First aid people raising eyebrows and stating to each other that “das komisch ausseht”. Hurrah, even professionals think it looks odd. Transportation of the mountain by a piste bully. My friends driving me to the hospital. X-rays, more X-rays, plaster. I was on a adrenaline and endorphin rush and remember only flashes.

Nevertheless, I soon realized my week of snowboarding had just been abruptly shortened. And made into personal hell. I was doomed to sit in our pension in the dullest village ever all week on my own. Imagining my friends having fun, not being able to see Matt being the cool boarder he is, not being able to do anything fun at all.

Why this is hell instead of just a minor set back? Because it put me way up front in the show concerning every weak spot I own.

If you’ve read some of my previous columns you must have noticed a certain thread: I’m not very good with giving over control and the ability of surrendering to the influence of others. I knew it was only a matter of time: now my control issue had finally resulted in a true accident. From now on my controlling isn’t just annoying and complex at times, but also a danger to myself. This kinda freaked me out.

Another weak spot is accepting the tender, love and care my friends, especially Matt have been providing during the week. They have been as sweet as they possibly could. But accepting care like that makes me feel uneasy and guilty. I guess this in fact is another control issue.

Despite a broken wrist I was quite capable to deal with this. But after a few days their VIP treatment understandably faded and my shock and denial turned into self pity.

With nothing to do but write and listening to Matt’s iPod I was just waiting for the days to go by. Filling in pieces of time with snippets of what you’re reading right now, faking to be captivated by the television shows that were on hand. Frantically searching for something I could do without losing concentration. I came to realize this is rather difficult when your body is rebuilding an important part of you.

I must have cried more than I had done the entire prior year. I couldn’t control my arm. I was sickly jealous of my friends snowboarding. And sad to be left on my own all day. To be left out. This wasn’t just losing a bit of control, but being put out of control completely. For a control freak like me this felt like drug rehabilitation with all the possible withdrawal symptoms.

Thoughts and feelings that usually accompany my personal experience of a minor depression were unmistakably present. I got a fever and was nauseous. I remember lots of fights, quarrels and tantrums against Matt and against myself. I felt alone, trapped, slowly going insane. I wanted to trash the room, run my fingernails down the walls, rip up clothes, scream, cry, kill, die. And these feelings felt so affected and out of place that they became hurtful on their own.

Now I’ve finally returned home. I’ve just reread what I’d written during the week and it sounds pathetic. I know breaking a wrist sucks big time. But it’s scary that both the breaking itself and the days afterwards were coloured so badly by needing to stay in control of things.

I need a change. To change. Something.

But not yet. I’m tired, dizzy, exhausted. For the time being my body has taken over control.

Column published by Cecile on Monday, March 5th, 2007.

Similar columns

• Have we lost faith in monogamy?
• Time flies when you’re ill
• 10 things I love about you
• Splash - The Burn Out Ocean
• Open letter to my body