It seems apropos to write about short changing during a coin crisis. Of course, I am writing about a lack of emotional quarters instead of a lack of actual quarters but still, they say timing is everything.
I want to apologize to you for shortchanging you.
I short change you every time you ask how I am feeling. I never share the whole answer with you. I never let you inside that aspect of my life.
This failing of mine comes from a place of love.
You see, I can feel how much I hurt you when you learn how much I hurt. You love me and you don’t want to see me in pain. But you try to support me, you ask how I am and hope with intensity that my answer is “better.”
It rarely is.
That’s the thing about Fibromyalgia. It’s a tenacious little fucker.
I have a problem though. You see, I’ve been shortchanging you for so long that I no longer feel comfortable giving you the full story. I’ve managed to shut myself off from that luxury through my effort to protect you.
And I really, really need you right now.
I am tired.
It’s been a long road of not being okay and there are no exits for me. I am supposed to wake up every day and fight an enemy I cannot see, who is so close to me you cannot separate me from it.
I am so very tired.
I am too tired for words. Too tired to tell you how much I hurt. All of my energy is going into this fight right now. I am less able to friend, to mom, to wife.
I apologize for that.
I would ask that when you ask me how I am and I don’t really tell you, to please assume I am in a bad place and just pour on the love. I’m sorry I can’t ask in a better way, or be more verbose one on one.
I love you.
My broken is not broken enough
to get the help I need
to stop the bleed
of endless co-pays and medical bills
of supplement costs
of specialist fees.
any adventure I manage to have
any life I squeeze
any pleasure I tease
from this tattered body and shattered dreams
becomes the reason You see
to refuse the need.
my broken is not broken enough
i should be deteriorating more
lying prone on the floor
or screaming in torment and pain
unable to enjoy a thing
my walk with the dog around the block
isn’t a sign that I’m lying
i don’t have to be constantly crying
to need help and support
from my village
it isn’t my intent to pillage
i would work if I could.
You would see the food thrown to the crows
rather than let it slip
through my lips
because it might have been earned with your labor
and You never need a favor
everything You have You worked for.
You personally paid for the street that was laid
for your car to traverse
on your way to work.
And the water You mindlessly drink
from your kitchen sink
comes from your well
dug with your own hands at your own cost
You got nothing from us
never even rode a bus.
My broken isn’t broken enough
to stir empathy
in your heart
You lack the sympathy
You won’t lend a hand
You are your own man.
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.