I’m having a really hard time.
My muscles are fighting me.
Round after round of sustained contractions in my back, stomach, left arm.
Almost constant moderate to severe head pain. Small windows of reprieve. Weakness that makes it difficult to breathe, move.
My brain feels heavy, paralyzed.
It’s hard to think.
My mood is up and down. Sometimes euphoric or elated. Others suicidally depressed. Small periods of effective work. Minutes. Trouble standing. Pain sleeping. I wake up thrashing, throwing my head back and forth. My left hip keeps popping out. My wrist is improving slightly from the fall.
I can’t hear my stream of thoughts.
I can’t feel my feelings.
I don’t want to shop.
It’s 10pm & I’ve been ready to sleep for hours.
I need to sleep.
Some days I wonder how long this can go on. The voice in my head says “forever.” My history says usually about 2 weeks. When I’m in it I think it will never end. When I’m out I forget what it’s like. Right now I watch NCIS.
I have sharp pains in my muscles too.
Happy Sunday. (weary grin)
(eat chicken rice)
My organs get in on the action.
My heart, bladder & bowels. My stomach.
I started talking to a recorder on my phone. I’ve yet to transcribe. Feels good. Eventually they’ll be on the blog.
I’m really glad I write.
Mom’s boyfriend is going back to New York tomorrow. I don’t want him to go. We’re not buddy buddy but I like him. And he makes her happy. The house will be quiet without him. I feel lonely.
J’s back in town. (It feels good to write.) I haven’t seen him yet. He texts me on and off. I don’t want to see him. It was good while it was good. And it was bad when it wasn’t. It was better when he left. It will be better when it’s over. His texts and actions and inactions and lies make me angry. I’m proud of myself for keeping my boundaries and for knowing and believing at my core that the ending does not devalue the good. I just can’t do it anymore.
He’s texting now. I feel frustrated. I can hear the sales-pitch in his tone. I feel bad because I think he honestly doesn’t know or understand. I love him. I want the best for him. I want him to grow up. We can play, but I can’t be his mother. I can’t be his God. And I can’t be his taker.
I haven’t written in so long it’s like unclogging a pipe – the one from my hand to my brain. Reconnecting with an old friend. I do not control what comes out. I just watch.
My brain and body are fading. less pain. falling asleep. NCIS is like family.
My eyes feel glazed in plastic.
My feet are tingling. My tongue is curled.
My back needs to crack.
I’d like to paint my nails but my muscles are too weak. It’s better than being cramped.
I wonder what my Potassium level is.
I feel like I have to keep writing even though I have nothing to say. And I have to pee. Hmmm…
© Michelle Routhieaux 2012