Some days are hard (a lot of them lately). I’m not much for posting/tweeting about that for a number of reasons. Firstly ’cause I think the internet if plenty full of whiny complaint and I don’t need to add to it; but probably mainly because when things get rough I tend to turtle, turn in on myself and just deal with. I think I needed this public venue to discover how private I actually am.
And yet today, I write. I’ve got nothing positive to say, I’m starting my day off with an epic pity party and you all get to hear about it. I think that’s in part because I’d developed a habit of writing on a regular basis with the 100 day project and the silence on here has even been bugging me, and in good measure because I’ve got a lot of mopey ideas running around my head and I’m tired of listening to them so I want to get them out. But more than anything, what I learned from that 100 days of posting was: Just Write. So I will.
Mornings are really tough for me, it takes a while for the meds to kick in, to get moving and starting to feel okay (and sometimes I don’t anyway). But today I’m coming to realize I hate mornings, and now I understand why. I was dreaming just before waking today, and I remember it. I was climbing up pyramids in the snow, everything was fresh and alive, I felt fresh and alive – exerting my body in 3 dimensions: curious, exploring, adventuring. I woke up from that to pain, limbs full of lead, and a brain so burnt-out deciding on what to eat for breakfast is more than my synapses can carry. Fuck.
I wanna go back to the place where I can move, where I’m friends with my body, where it can take me places, where I’m free to do what I want. Fantasy yes, but my fantasy, and I remember it, I miss it. And I have had real-life times when I didn’t feel like crap – times dancing, drumming, hiking… I remember those too. That’s not fantasy, that was my reality… just not right now.
I was watching 12 Monkeys last night, and today I can really empathize with the main character being yoinked back and forth through time – one world trapped underground, in prison, caged, tossed around unwillingly; the other on the surface drinking in fresh air, trying to find his own way (okay and getting shot, that’s probably not fun, but still…). Never sure where reality lies, trying to reconcile the two places that are both his world. Definitely madhouse material.
It’s bloody hard. And the hardest in times like now where I’m partway between the two worlds. I’ve got a few hours of functioning in me these days, and that’s a bigger challenge than being a write-off. People see me when I venture out in that 20% I’m functioning, think I’m okay now and don’t see the 80% I’m still laid up at home (as an aside I’m sure getting good value out of my rent when I’m here almost all the time – I pity those fools who pay full price for a place they only sleep in – booya!). The thing I think most people don’t get about chronic illness is that it is un-fucking-relenting. People are used to seeing something acute and then seeing it resolve in a few weeks at most.
I spent months being stupid and driving myself into this pit, and I’ll be months climbing my way out of it. In the meantime I’m going to be very frustrated and booooooored out of my mind. It’s like being grounded: you just sit there young lady and think about what you’ve done! No you can’t play with your friends, no you can’t hang out on the computer, you just sit there and do nothing. I know the doing nothing is part of the healing, I know I need to be patient, need to be accepting of where I’m at right now.
So sure, I’ll be accepting of where I’m at right now; and right now where I’m at is not being accepting of where I’m at. Today the only peace I’m going to find is being at peace with the fact I’m not at peace. ‘s alright, this too shall pass. Besides, in another 12 hrs and I’ll be asleep again. Then I can do whatever I want!