On Wednesday and Thursday I woke up happy. Not bubbling-over-with-joy happy, but ... I will try to describe it. Not so skincrawlingly anxious was the biggest change. Not feeling all-over-angry. I smiled. I laughed. I giggled. I talked more and faster. I spoke up. I smiled at people even when they were being a little nerve-wracking or the situation was tense. And it wasn't a fake smile. It was like, oh well, things are weird, but it'll pass. And the cane. It didn't matter. Not as much. It was just a serene sort of... whatever. In a relative sense, it was BLISSFUL. I felt like a weight had been lifted. And I don't know what caused it or how to get it back.
I know that when I have a large positive change like this, I tend to exploit it. For example, in January of 2011 I switched my meds and had a lot less fibro pain, I said yes to every opportunity that came my way. Workshops, classes, readings, meetings, projects. I did everything because I was feeling so damn good. I steadily burned into July. At the beginning of August I was completely exhausted and then had a bit of a "trough," shall we say. A valley of exhaustion. That lasted from August 2011 thru January 2012 when I got PT for my back injury in November '11.
So yesterday, when I realized I was getting a BONUS DAY of feeling good, I made a list of events. I had three events planned. Usually with the fibro, two is a good plan. But I had three. I knew I was pushing it but hey, once in awhile is okay, right? So I did a bunch of errands that required a lot of exertion (event one), visited with Jenn (event two) and had drinks with Katherine (event three). This all involved a lot of walking, busing, standing waiting for buses. It was really hot out. I felt happily exhausted, kind of gross with sunscreen.
In the meantime, I found out that surprise! there would be a fourth event. Dinner with in-laws. I thought we weren't going to see them until Saturday morning, but I didn't get the memo about the Friday night dinner. Mike apologized for not telling me about it. I forgave him but was still pissed off. Intellectually I know he has been under enormous deadline pressure, and that a miscommunication was inevitable. But emotionally I was pissed. I think he quasi-offered for me to skip the dinner. But here's the thing: Mike plays the dutiful son. Mike IS the dutiful son. In many ways, not just this one, he is, morally, a better person than I am. So I feel extremely guilty when I don't play the equally dutiful daughter-in-law. But I'm not wired that way, to be close to my family. My family visits about once a year. Sometimes less. It's not enough. We see his family like ants in my pocket, every three months. They both work full-time. It's a five-hour drive. And still they come. It's more than I'm used to. But, weirdly, I have sort of started to LIKE having family around. Again though, not wired that way. When I see his family so often, I miss my own. It's hard to explain. I want MINE, not his. It's like... cognitive dissonance.
So, exhausted I came home and took a shower to get all the sunscreen off. The shower was Edenic. And I knew it was the first day of Real Summer. After showering, my back started to spaz a little. I was like oh, fuck. No. We have one more damn thing to get through. C'mon back. I know you're tired. We can do this. So I flopped on the bed. "I have to rest my back for five minutes." I needed an hour. I got ten minutes. The door knocked. I was like, "Shit fuck hell." Mike was like, "oh for godsakes." I guess he thought I was overreacting. Fair enough.
I should mention that during the errands event in the morning, i bought pretty sandals. Most of my shoes sort of tow the line between pretty and utilitarian. I have balance problems, so I can't really wear heels and I need the shoes to be stable because I don't drive, so, walk a lot. But yesterday. I bought in addition to cute-yet-functional black sandals to replace my falling-apart pair... *~two pair~* of cute sandals. Not practical. Not for a lot of walking. Ornamental. One pair of red flats and one pair of silver sparkly sandals with the tiniest of heels. Vegas baby! We leave next week. Finally we get our vacation.
I figured going out to dinner was a great way to break in a pair of sandals. Minimal walking. We were going in the C A R rrrrr. So I chose the red flats. They were the easier than the ones with the heels and I was tired; I knew that.
Aside: I usually practice walking in my shoes, whichever shoes they are, because of my balance. My feet have to get acquainted. My equilibrium has to stabilize. My muscles have to learn. Just for a few minutes. But we were leaving NOW and so I put the sandals on (glancing in disgust at my chipped, grown-out pedi) and went downstairs.
And as we were exiting the porch... it has two whole steps. And I tripped down them. And I hung onto the newel post to avoid falling. The result was a sort of total-body whiplash, with OF COURSE my lower back having a total spaz and my right elbow getting the rest of it. Fuck. I took a whopping dose of muscle relaxers and fell asleep on an ice pack. It sort of helped I guess. I am SO MAD NOW. I hurt all over this morning.
Both A and N have spoken to me about back spasms in particular and fibro in general that happen because "it's my body's way of expressing my needs when I refuse to do so in the normal (speaking: hey, I need this) fashion." They both feel that the more emotion I can get out of my head and into the world, the less my pain will be. Not that it will go away, but that I am holding onto it, in some sense creating it, as a result of the constant anxiety and repression of anger.
I have to give this idea some cred. N is a psychiatrist. A is an "energy worker." Both ends of the mental health spectrum and they say the same thing. I've also read scientific articles about fibro and the parasympathetic nervous system. How your fight-or-flight response gets stuck in the on position and you can't relax because the "danger" never goes away. And it makes these "overactive nerves" that they talk about in the commercials for Lyrica.
I have to give this idea some cred. N is a psychiatrist. A is an "energy worker." Both ends of the mental health spectrum and they say the same thing. I've also read scientific articles about fibro and the parasympathetic nervous system. How your fight-or-flight response gets stuck in the on position and you can't relax because the "danger" never goes away. And it makes these "overactive nerves" that they talk about in the commercials for Lyrica.
Which leads me to want to be like *head desk**head desk**head desk**head desk* until I black out. Because wtf?! I'm doing this to myself? I can't help it, but somehow, I can? I get it. I understand. But I resist. The story of my existence. Intellectually I get it. Emotionally, I'm like *head desk*.
Needs.
Mike asked me awhile ago when his parents were planning on coming up for Memorial Day weekend, did I mind. Well, what was I supposed to say? Did I mind indeed. Not at that moment, no. In fact, I believe I was involved in something, like putting together a submission or some other brain-taking task. But somehow, I knew there was a chance that I would mind. But what could I say? I had no actual objections. So no, I didn't mind. What was I supposed to say? Who says no? Who says I mind? A selfish person.
But guess what: I do mind. I haven't spent any fucking time with my husband who has been DROWNING in work with no real foreseeable outlet in the medium term future. He's sacrificing to pursue his dream. I get that. And he's doing really well. And I am so proud of him. And there will be Vegas in a week. I hope. But the last time we were going to go to Vegas, he got very, very sick the night before. And I'm praying it doesn't happen again. So yes, I mind that they're here because I wanted to spend a goddamn weekend with my husband. All the fun family shit we're supposed to do with THEM, I want to do with HIM. We both have chronic illnesses, me and him. But this weekend, neither of us are sick. My family visited just a few weeks ago. I feel like his family JUST HAD TO VISIT AGAIN, just to keep the ratio as uneven as ever. I know some of these feelings are irrational. And some... some of them may have valid points........ {trails off}
Mike asked me awhile ago when his parents were planning on coming up for Memorial Day weekend, did I mind. Well, what was I supposed to say? Did I mind indeed. Not at that moment, no. In fact, I believe I was involved in something, like putting together a submission or some other brain-taking task. But somehow, I knew there was a chance that I would mind. But what could I say? I had no actual objections. So no, I didn't mind. What was I supposed to say? Who says no? Who says I mind? A selfish person.
But guess what: I do mind. I haven't spent any fucking time with my husband who has been DROWNING in work with no real foreseeable outlet in the medium term future. He's sacrificing to pursue his dream. I get that. And he's doing really well. And I am so proud of him. And there will be Vegas in a week. I hope. But the last time we were going to go to Vegas, he got very, very sick the night before. And I'm praying it doesn't happen again. So yes, I mind that they're here because I wanted to spend a goddamn weekend with my husband. All the fun family shit we're supposed to do with THEM, I want to do with HIM. We both have chronic illnesses, me and him. But this weekend, neither of us are sick. My family visited just a few weeks ago. I feel like his family JUST HAD TO VISIT AGAIN, just to keep the ratio as uneven as ever. I know some of these feelings are irrational. And some... some of them may have valid points........ {trails off}
But I didn't speak those feelings. Now I blog them. I blog them to the entire fucking world because maybe my back spazzing will spaz a little less. In fact, I swear I can feel it unwinding just a little. {insert maniacal crazy laughter here}
*head desk*
*head desk*
*head desk*
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