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Cry Havoc, Body
Jul. 14th, 2011 01:11 pmFirst two paragraphs are posted from Facebook, because I am still exhausted.
Last night:
Temperature is still over 99 degrees. Fibrous/connective tissues are still achy and sore. Limbs are still stiff and spastic. Skin, mouth, and eyes are still dry. Head is still hurting. Nerves are still twitchy. It's like there's a party in my body and everybody's screaming. Now, whining over. I'm going to try some basic tai chi after drinking some tea.
This morning:
Today is the same as yesterday, except with a temperature of 97 degrees. I slept horribly. To paraphrase Philip J. Fry, I'm as gimpy as I've ever been. Until the next gimpy time. It's all good. I have pills. And herbs. And stretching. And a loving husband who will give massages. And cats who squeak. And fictional characters to torture lovingly.
Today:
During my poor sleep last night, I had moments where I was seeing my body from outside, watching myself twitch and spasm and twist and writhe. Sensitivity was so heightened that a gentle touch caused pain: A cat rubbing against me, Adam's foot brushing against my leg. Sometimes my breathing was deep and desperate, sometimes shallow and pained. My dreams revolved around old empty castles and ancient secrets buried in haunted chambers. Adam held me against him as though he could protect me from myself. I tried to take some of his healing energy and spread it throughout. I can't remember if it worked. When we woke up, I was stumbling and staggering and limping and shaking. Sex helped. Drugs helped. Music helped. Breakfast helped. The pain is not fading, but I can think through it well enough.
It's just one of those things, you know? The people who expect me to "suck it up and deal" are not in my head and have difficulty actually understanding me on that deep empathic level, and no matter how they try to understand, it is still not really the same kind of understanding. And that's okay. Irritating, but okay. The people who have similar chronic disorders don't need to feel as though their pains should be better or worse than mine. Everybody -- every body -- is completely unique and very different. We all work with our issues in our own way. Every time a fellow chronic pain sufferer tells me, "I wish I could be as strong as you" I bite my lip and shake my head. You have to find your own methods, your own strength, your own force of will. Also, I am not strong. I just push through. While screaming inside.
Today's meditative imaging technique will involve tree roots made of pure energy, braided light and dark and gray, twisting from my feet to my head, each color working with specific problems throughout my body.
Last night:
Temperature is still over 99 degrees. Fibrous/connective tissues are still achy and sore. Limbs are still stiff and spastic. Skin, mouth, and eyes are still dry. Head is still hurting. Nerves are still twitchy. It's like there's a party in my body and everybody's screaming. Now, whining over. I'm going to try some basic tai chi after drinking some tea.
This morning:
Today is the same as yesterday, except with a temperature of 97 degrees. I slept horribly. To paraphrase Philip J. Fry, I'm as gimpy as I've ever been. Until the next gimpy time. It's all good. I have pills. And herbs. And stretching. And a loving husband who will give massages. And cats who squeak. And fictional characters to torture lovingly.
Today:
During my poor sleep last night, I had moments where I was seeing my body from outside, watching myself twitch and spasm and twist and writhe. Sensitivity was so heightened that a gentle touch caused pain: A cat rubbing against me, Adam's foot brushing against my leg. Sometimes my breathing was deep and desperate, sometimes shallow and pained. My dreams revolved around old empty castles and ancient secrets buried in haunted chambers. Adam held me against him as though he could protect me from myself. I tried to take some of his healing energy and spread it throughout. I can't remember if it worked. When we woke up, I was stumbling and staggering and limping and shaking. Sex helped. Drugs helped. Music helped. Breakfast helped. The pain is not fading, but I can think through it well enough.
It's just one of those things, you know? The people who expect me to "suck it up and deal" are not in my head and have difficulty actually understanding me on that deep empathic level, and no matter how they try to understand, it is still not really the same kind of understanding. And that's okay. Irritating, but okay. The people who have similar chronic disorders don't need to feel as though their pains should be better or worse than mine. Everybody -- every body -- is completely unique and very different. We all work with our issues in our own way. Every time a fellow chronic pain sufferer tells me, "I wish I could be as strong as you" I bite my lip and shake my head. You have to find your own methods, your own strength, your own force of will. Also, I am not strong. I just push through. While screaming inside.
Today's meditative imaging technique will involve tree roots made of pure energy, braided light and dark and gray, twisting from my feet to my head, each color working with specific problems throughout my body.
