At night I take the little pills that bring the sweet escape of unconsciousness. The pain is faded then, although sometimes it invades my dreams. Sometimes my dreams hurt as much as reality. On the better nights, my dream body is whole and free from suffering. I never know which way it’s going to go. The unpredictability of life with chronic pain pervades past a single level of consciousness. How wonderful.
I wake and my hands and forearms feel numb and dead. Cold, immovable and corpse-like. They aren’t dead though, no, dead is much less painful from what I imagine. I start to wriggle and little by little proprioception awakens and internal lights start going on. The things that they illuminate would be better stayed in shadows.
The aching never ceases. It hurts where I have been touching the mattress as I slept. It hurts where one limb is pressed against another. It hurts through any joints that have dared to move into an angle as I was distracted by The Sandman. It hurts through the ones that didn’t dare.
The inside lights brighten as the seconds tick by. Perhaps they are set incorrectly. Nothing inside of a living other need ever burn that brightly. For it burns, you see. The light. It burns like its fuel is the very sun, which somehow exists under the skin. It burns like an acid cocktail. It burns red.
I can see the fire in my hands. The boiling blood. It shades them purple; red and purple. The colour increases at a lowered angle and fades if I raise my arms. It’s like a circus trick. Look at my white hand, my red hand, look how I can swap them. See how quickly the magic happens. Is it art if I suffer enough?
Must not focus on the pain. Shift attention. Find another, a something else. Find a happy memory. Find a mindful moment. Feel love. Search and seek for it’s not enough to simply suffer. It’s not enough to be static, I must move. It’s not enough to sit without fighting. Fight to release for it’s not enough to fight through force.
The motions, I must move through them. Let the thoughts flow. Away. Let regret seep out; jealousy, loss, apparent futility, all must leave lest they pull me off the balance beam. Why is the path so narrow? I want to take wider steps. Let that go, too.
Feldenkrais will help. Move small and slowly. So small that the movements can barely be seen. Be kind to my nervous system. Massage it into a more peaceful method of functioning. Trust in the results. Trust that the method will continue to pay off. Remember that so often it lowers the pain level considerably.
Though frustrated, I have been more crippled. I have been more incapacitated than today. I have felt more pain. I have had less hope.
Everything takes more time than I’d like and is over too quickly.
And yes, you sting me hands. You sting like needles through my knuckles. You make everything so difficult these days. However, I hurt you now. I needed to say this something. I somehow needed to write this something. I am sinking and this is what I can throw overboard. This something.
The motions, I must move through them. Let the thoughts flow away. Eat. That’s important, even when unappealing. Remember the worse times so that I might see that this narrow path is still the right one. The motions, I must move through them. Search and seek for it’s not enough to simply suffer. It’s not enough to sit without fighting.
Time to shake off this cloak built from annoyance at repeated pain, read something inspirational and get on with things. Wallowing isn’t a battle tactic.
Love & Venting,