My Take

It is just about ten thirty at night and I am laying here in pain. The pain hasn’t eased up much the last month and the last week has been among the most brutal of all. My legs are going numb and aching deep to the bones. Standing or walking for more than a minute or two causes back spasms so badly that I have to hold on to something as my legs and body begin to tremble from the aches. I am exhausted all the time and my meds just add to that. It seems like all I do is sleep or nap or think about when I can rest. 

This has been hard for me. Mostly because of the constant pain that I fear will never end. It’s different when you know the cause because then you have hope for release from the prison your body suddenly represents. Feeling as though all I do is whine or moan in protest because of how my body is failing me is also hard. Yes, I have always been a complainer, but I have only ever been stopped in my tracks once before. Never mind day after day after day. I feel like I am failing, in everything I do or say. 

For the first time in my life I think I am actually realizing that I am a mere mortal and that I could be facing my mortality as I sit here and write. That controls a lot of my thoughts, not because I am afraid of dying, but because I know at some point I will, whether it’s now or far off in the future. One day I will be sitting here and have the knowledge that the next breath could very well be the last. 

If it wasn’t for the pain I am in I wouldn’t be pursuing a diagnosis. I would rather live in ignorant bliss for the rest of my days then know that something is or could be wrong. It’s odd that pain holds so much power and can force us to do things we would never do. I see now why it is used by people to get answers. Pain is a powerful motivation and if you have a chance at release you would do about anything to achieve it. It’s a very scary place.

After nights of sleep deprivation and pain I have concluded that if this constant ache continues for much longer I will likely end up in the psych ward. Lack of quality of sleep, being able to do stuff is quite literally driving me batty.

I’m the one everyone goes to when they have a problem. I am expected to mend hearts and reunite people with their own souls yet in these moments I can’t focus on much of anything. I have quickly become a bad friend because I am snappy and offering shit for advice along with the snappy comments. It’s not that I don’t care, because I do. It’s that I can’t focus long enough to be of any use. At least that’s how I feel.

Certain people have been god awful to me about how I am feeling while one or two others seem to genuinely care and worry. This blog makes it look like I am looking for pity, and I am not. I always write about how I am feeling, this time it just happens I am feeling like shit.

I have anxiety about the upcoming week. Lots of behind the scenes stuff going on with family and I need to make an appointment as well. Those things seem daunting at the moment but they need to be done regardless of how I feel. I just hope I feel well enough to deal with them when the time comes.

I look around here and see the world falling down around me and I wonder how long it will be before I can get things cleaned up and put away. Its spring, I get antsy and usually do my best cleaning around now. Instead the place once again looks like a frat house after a party. I was hoping to do a vegetable garden this year with the kids but I can’t imagine being able to maintain one now. It is weird how in the face of death life is put on hold. I guess essentially certain things are a death sentence that begins now, regardless of when your physical body actually chooses to separate from your soul. 

Last time I posted I posted a copy of the short story The Yellow Wallpaper. 

The reason I posted about this is because women’s mental health really hasn’t changed all that much. I have been told to rest so many times in the last few months, not because of my sanity but because I have been sick and it really does drive you nuts. The author really captured that resting is often the worst thing you can do, or at least have forced upon you. I understand my physical limitations but I don’t think people realize how taxing that can be mentally. I often feel like I am slipping into psychosis yet I know I am not because when I do I don’t know it.

The saying “a crazy person doesn’t know they are crazy” is very true. When you are holed up in the bathroom slicing your wrist and you believe it is rational you are very far off from being sane, at least in that moment. It doesn’t mean you are insane all the time. It means that you get sick. You collapse mentally and you can’t pull yourself out of that hole. The people around you suddenly don’t make sense because you cannot rationalize with the irrational nor can you truly empathize with someone when you have never experienced what they have.

Instead, all you can do is support that person, listen to them, be their shoulder to cry on, even if it doesn’t make sense to you. Their feelings and emotions aren’t wrong. They are what they are and should not be dismissed. If a person wants to write or draw or just sleep you need to respect that, as long as they aren’t doing anything reckless. Care for them, love them, don’t punish them for feeling how they do or for not feeling something you believe they should. 

We all grieve and mourn and feel in different ways and often over different things. What hurts me may be brushed off by the person next to me and what makes that person break may be something that doesn’t affect me in the least. 

Each of us are different, but one thing I believe we can all agree with is that no matter how sane we are, we can all be broken by something as simple as The Yellow Wallpaper.