I dreamt of friendships in the past,
of broken hearts
of dice miscast.
I dreamt of dreams I barely kissed,
the stars I reached
the ones I missed.
I dreamt of you-
my fair weather friend,
the one who vanished in the end.
I wonder how I can miss you so
and still question why you chose to go.
It sounds so relaxing doesn’t it? I’m going to practice self care. It sounds like bubble baths with a good book and relaxation days at a spa.
It doesn’t sound like forcing yourself to eat when you are nauseated or to exercise when every nerve in your body is already screaming or getting enough sleep with insomnia or taking a shower when touching your skin hurts you.
It doesn’t sound like applying for SSDI or acknowledging your disability or cancelling plans because you are over taxed. It doesn’t sound like doing laundry or making your bed.
That is what self-care is. It is doing the hard thing for yourself because you know it will make the rest of your day a teensy bit better.
Really it’s self-work. It’s adulting. It’s setting boundaries and learning to say no. It’s making your space pleasant for you so when you are forced to spend a lot of time in it you aren’t looking around thinking about all the tasks you should be doing. It’s making doctors appointments when you need them and avoiding triggering foods.
And sometimes it’s getting a massage when your skin can’t handle being touched because the underlying muscles need it and if you are lucky you might have relief in a few days after you deal with the bio-feedback from the massage.
And it’s missing the days when a massage was just a massage instead of a medical treatment.
And it’s acknowledging it here on your blog and then letting it go.
Much love to my spoonietribe. Keep on keeping on.
a kiss, a touch, a graze, the wind
sets fire raging across my skin.
not the fire of passion’s grace
but the fire of a ravaged face.
nerves read fingers and knives alike
and interpret love with increasing spikes
of headaches, throbbing, and sharp rebukes
a razor’s dance of bio nukes.
The act of love becomes a maze
paths drawn anew with the latest phase.
he never knows which nerves will measure
the touch of pain or the touch of pleasure.