Okay, so, when I started this blog, I had great plans for it. I started dictating entries on my phone as recordings, intending to type them up later. I got overly dramatic with them, and fully involved in florid phrasing and such. But then, I could never find the time to actually sit down and transcribe them. Consequently, since I was trying to tell backstory and make this blog somewhat logical in its ordering, I refused to let myself just open up a draft and start writing an entry.
Fuck that noise. I’mma just start writing.
I am (at the time I started writing this post, at least) in bed, supposedly sleeping, but mostly avoiding my husband and stepdaughter, simply because I want to avoid my husband. Well, and because I’m having a hellova time holding my head upright, so lying down is rather nice. And they’re watching TV while they bake a cake and talk noisily, and my head just can’t take it.
And this neck pain? That’s a recent thing. That didn’t even factor into things when I came up with this “Life in Pain and Perfidy” title. I also didn’t know, at the time, that “Pain and Perfidy” was a phrase that had been thrown around a time or two in the past. But I’m not surprised it has been – it’s catchy, I think.
Anyway, the neck pain. Car accident. Rear-ended. Silly chit decided to just drive forward when she thought the light should turn green, despite the fact that it was still red. She hits me, I hit him. My car is the only one with damages, I’m the only one that suffers an injury.
Okay, so, Pain and Perfidy. How about Pain?
I live in pain – physical pain, emotional pain. A few ailments plague me. One of these is depression (specifically, bipolar disorder and anxiety issues), which is no surprise, given that I’m sitting here (attempt #2 to finish this post), writing a blog that is basically bitching about stuff, but I’ve been dealing with the depression for 17 years, more actively for the last 10. The physical pain is mostly in the form of fibromyalgia, a never-ending aching pain that can often leave me completely physically incapacitated, such that I am unable to get out of bed. If I am able to get out of bed, it takes me two to three minutes to walk down one flight of stairs to get to the kitchen, so I can make breakfast or just get a cup of coffee. It actually takes less time to ascend the stairs.
Don’t get me wrong. Most days, I seem to be a Perfectly Normal, Fully-Functioning Human Female. I might move a little more slowly than most, or with perhaps more deliberation. I might not always be up for being sociable, but most would attribute that to me being just another introvert in an asocial mood.
But that’s not the case.
I long for a day, just one day, where I could be pain- and depression-free. Or even just free of one of those.
– A day where I could easily get out of a chair.
– A day where I can walk the short length of my living or dining room without worrying where and how to put my feet, merely for to the pain caused by walking even across a flat, unimpeded surface.
– A day when I can smile without feeling what it costs me to do so.
– A day when I can turn my head while driving to check my blind spot without getting a headache.
– A day where I can eat a meal requiring utensils without feeling the agony of holding them (similarly, the agony when I pick up a pen to sign my name).
– A day where I can handle problems as they come, without fretting about how every little thing will impact my entire world.
– A day where I can be in a good mood and know that I am legitimately in a good mood, rather than simply realizing, eventually, that I’m starting a manic period.
– A day when I can find one comfortable position to be in, and be in it for more than 5 minutes without all of my muscles seizing up.
– A day when I can simply wake up, open my eyes, breathe, and not have my first thought be, “groannnn.”
It’s that too much to ask for?
Apparently yes, because that’s what I’ve been asking for for every Christmas and birthday, on every found penny and shooting star, at every wishing well and on every candle I’ve extinguished, for half of my life.
This is attempt #4 to write this one simple post because I’ve been in too much pain to do it in one sitting. I promise, this blog won’t be me bitching about how much I hurt, but I just wanted to give you an idea of what I’m dealing with. This is what I live with. This is what I hide, every day. So, if I’m bitching, it’s because it’s particularly bad that day.
It’s been particularly bad since the accident, and getting worse daily.
But the Perfidy is the fun stuff. And I’ll start getting to that… next time I write. 😉