Here's How Pain Works Sometimes

I wake in the night and don't know why. I register something like discomfort, not quite pain. More like being uncomfortably aware of organs you are pretty sure are not supposed to have any feeling at all.

It's like the distant echo of pain--your body always knows before you do. And so begins the unfortunate cycle.

You review your data: this is off schedule, is this gonna be like last month and be the pms that was as bad as the period?, you have detected signs that you were missing before: Yup, seems likely. You about to be in a world of pelvic hurt, probably accompanied by GI shenanigans because, well, because that's how it always goes.

See, the pain is bad. Real bad. When it spikes, sometimes all i can do is just lay there. I try heating pads, I try exercise/sweating it out, I try NSAIDs  in unhealthy amounts, acupuncture, TCM herb treatments (nasty, btw, so very nasty), Rx pain meds (which can at least turn the volume down to a manageable level but good luck getting an Rx these days), clean eating, taking unhealthy amounts of Omega-3 oils, and probably ten other things I can't even think of right now.  Hell, if I had found something to abstain from that would end this chronic misery, I'd like to think I'd be smart enough to take that deal.

But that's the prob--all those small steps can help some, and aggregated you get a multiplier effect. But everything has consequences and costs. And there's still no real pain relief--not when it's really bad. Not even when it's just a constant throb, a dull ache that never goes away. 

(Note: The closest I've found are, frankly, narcotics. They turn it down to dull roar and I can go to work. But you best believe I still have to take NSAIDs and do a lot of other crap to keep the machinery going.)

It's exhausting. If you're lucky, you can take something to sleep or either pass out from exhaustion after several hours/days. But, at that point, your non functional. And still in pain. Just unconscious. Less than ideal, as the man said.

Same deal with heating pads/napalm heat creams. You're tied to an outlet, or your skin is on fire. And thank god that heat can bypass a pain signal. But at a certain point, the heat becomes pain. Also, it's awkward af walking around town in a flop sweat. And you still can't eat, feel like crap and blah blah blah. So, you kinda end up. . . . laying around. Notice a trend?

Anyhoo, so at 2:30 this morning I say, "Eff this skullduggery. I see the dark clouds on the horizon. Quick, let me quaff my restorative tonic!" Which means I took my special blend of benadryl, anaesthesia, ahuyasca, and ex-lax* and went back to bed. 

To awake sometime around 7 with confirmation: the pain has arrived. Batten down the hatches, here we go.

Whatever you've got, take it. Vitamins, NSAIDs, etc. Make sure to drink some dairy but don't eat. Your stomach is just waiting to do you wrong, and it's really gonna pissed after a few days of those NSAIDs. Never take on empty stomach, but never fill stomach.

Take a hot shower. Grab your heating pad. If it's 80 degrees in your house, then get a fan. And prepare to stay in front of it. All day. Think about cold showers too.

And you end up later in the day, now, with the afternoon heat having settled around the houses. Finally broke down at ate something b/c, let's face it, it was neccessary. It was also a bad idea. 

The pain has lapped at you in waves, ceaselessly, all day. It hasn't even kicked into high gear yet. It's just slowly wearing you down. At this point, you are either in a coma, delirious from your meds, or delirious from the pain. None of it is fun. I wonder why I even gained consciousness today--b/c all i can do is wait for tomorrow, hope the period starts soon so it can end soon, and try more coping methods tomorrow.

I'm tired of writing about pain. I'm tired of thinking about pain. But mostly, I'm tired of being in pain.

*Pro-tip: beginners might want to watch it on the ex-lax. don't want to make any foolish mistakes.

arrhythmic distortions

somewhere in this moody mist lurks a stifled heart

Perhaps two passions can, rather than enflame the other, instead temper each other. Give something that burns back just as fiercely, but that also has other outlets. To no longer be afraid of being too bold, showing too much, or the inevitable hurt that occurs when a different passion has you in its grasp?

Two flames that gutter for a moment, then agree to share the oxygen

i want to loose a thousand butterflies from my fingertips to fill the world with news of you

Lovely you

i want to fold a thousand paper cranes into ten thousand lanterns and light the world with love of you

Winsome you

     (A flotilla of faery fire to bring the good news:

          magic still exist! See its bright eyes.)

i will do none of those things, of course.

But i will love you with every scarred and battered fibre of this blasted heart

i’ve got your likeness there, next to that old rusty furnace, and there it will remain

(funny thing about that furnace

i thought my heart had turned to diamond, brittle jagged hard

buckled under and crushed and compacted beneath the massive geologic forces of heartbreak

but it turns out it’s still a lump of coal

embering away in the depths

keeping the whole creaking machine going)

So we’ll circle around that tasty treat, each eyeing the other mistrustfully

Fully missing that there is enough for both of us

Two flames in plato’s cave

Will they ever see aught but the shadows?

Essays On Neuroticism

July 7, 2016

*******

My appetites are either never satisfied or I am craving isolation. So little habitable territory inbetween.

AKA Why I Turn Into A Freaknik When You Start To Matter To Me

Part of me has always been morbid, it seems. Could it be my very nature to associate dread with love? That is, to fear loving because of ultimately, always, losing? That seems so cowardly.

But heartache produces such a keen sadness.

Disappointment is the bitterest draught.

Can you really fault someone for deciding they’d rather not?

But there I go again, playing a fool. It seems there is always some little silliness in me. Sometimes I think it is what saves me. More likely, it is the only thing that makes me tolerable.

The child parroted back to me that I was a “fragile flower.” But that feels true. I don’t feel strong enough to withstand anything else. Not even an attempt to make things better.

But, I know I will. I know that whether this is pure logic or a dark mood, that there is light out there somewhere. I might not find it today. But it is beautiful and I hate it because it keeps me hanging on to this hateful, hurtful world.

Each person faces loneliness. We can never truly be known by another. Well known, yes. But at the core of your being is something so subjective to the intricacies of your experiences that no one can ever fully comprehend it. You don’t even comprehend it yourself—it can still surprise you after all these years.

Sometimes, lately, you think it’s surprising you more than ever before. Is that what getting older is? Letting go of preconceptions you didn’t even know you had?

Or is that what love is: the shock of being valued leading you to see the world with new eyes?

Or is that just plain old trauma: you just got so stressed that you went completely outta your head and stuff looks weird now?

How did I get to be this old without realizing that hope and doubt are two sides of a coin?

Hope for things changing for the better? Doubting your negative beliefs and prior assessments?

Love. Insanity. Hope. Doubt. Whatever you call the little fucker, he keeps you coming back for more, doesn’t he? No better pusher on earth.

He peddles his merciless commodity and we all just spin away into the long black universe.

i wonder if stars feel lonely

witty title here

So--back in SoCal. Two job leads went up in smoke, I flubbed another interview, my haircut is no bueno, and I've been bedridden with pain the last four days.

It has not been a triumphant return.

But hopefully it will get better.