I remember sitting in the backseat of my bestie’s parent’s car in 9th grade. We were going to Paris Ontario for some reason and her and I were going fabric shopping. Sinead O’Connor had just come out with the I Do Not Want What I haven’t Got album. And her dad let us play the cassette on the road trip.
It’s actually a really good album. I quite like her.
But the lyric that is pervasive in my head right now is ‘this is the last day of our acquaintance.’
I went through a phase about a month into lockdown wherein I visited old albums and artists I once loved. Her ‘best of’ and another obscure album called Gospel Oak were on the list.
Petit poulet tout ca c’est okay.
(Little chicken, everything is okay)
It’s really not okay, but hopefully it will be.
A few times I have posted upon ye olde blog while I am in my feelings.
Historically speaking, it hasn’t gone all that great.
I did it again yesterday. But it wasn’t about anyone else, it was just about me.
I think that’s the difference. I can have internal dialogue/free association writing when it come to my own thoughts about my own body, but when it comes to dealing with my thoughts and feels about others, I am better writing in retrospect.
My mind is a whirling dervish on occasion. Like now, now is one of those occasions.
I have had to take a long hard look at my health over the last 48 hours. A little longer really.
I had originally contacted the doctor to get ‘just in case’ meds for when I go away. Oh and by the way, I have a pain in my hip that wakes me up at night and my shoulders fell dislocated more often than not.
I try and treat everything I can holistically, but BV, Strep and bladder infections aren’t anything to fuck with, especially in another country. I learned this the hard was with a pervasive 104 degree fever coming close to kidney failure after an untreated bladder infection 20 years ago.
As always, I am learning.
And, in the immortal words of Wolf, “Turmeric isn’t doing shit.”
It’s really not.
I am also on yet another huge self-improvement kick.
I read something about long haul plague fatigue and how after six months of this new world order we are all bound to hit a wall. So I decided if I was going to hit it, I was going to be aware and twist it to my benefit. But as I struggled through 8 yoga poses for 8 minutes this morning, and for the last 3 mornings, it kinda hit me.
How much of my inactivity has been my choice and how much has it been my body demanding to rest?
I could always come up with some excuse.
Well I am not used to sitting so long, I wrote in an Airbnb stateside for most of the month of January after being cramped in a car full of my stuff for 3 days and having wild amazing pretzel sex. Of course I hurt. That’s normal right?
Then March came along and we all went into lockdown. I had never really rested and sat for prolonged periods of time, my life before was very physically active, so of course this hurts right? But it lasted 4 months. Then 2 weeks of quarantine out east moving furniture, then back to work. Of course that hurts. 3 days drive home, of course. Drinking heavily for 2 years of course.
I am sober, I’m reasonably active and I am out of excuses.
I don’t want to feel like this anymore, I have realized that while I may have made this my normal, it isn’t normal.
I did this to myself during my marriage too. Filled my days with watching Jerry Springer and Maury and Sisterwives and any other reality show that portrayed people who had it worse than me. I did busy work constantly, tried to put on a brave face for the internet. Spent Monday to Friday cleaning and taking pictures from just the right angle so the dirt and rot wouldn’t show through. Then weekends friends would come and I would get some reprieve because ex hubby would join in the façade.
I think my depression wasn’t so much me being sad so much as part of me knowing this wasn’t right, it wasn’t where I belonged.
I’d watch True Blood and see Sookie being loved and adored and it would physically pain me. Every once in a while, the blinders would come off and I would see the junked out cars, the failed projects the dirty (but healthy) livestock, the weeds where the garden should be and it would hit me like a train.
It wasn’t right.
And I think it’s happening again.
I do want to do yoga for more than 8 minutes without shaking, poses that used to feel good are incredibly difficult and painful now. I do want to learn how to do new things. I want my body back. But whatever survival mechanism I have hard wired in says ‘well this is what is, and we’re used to it.’
I am, after all, Princess suckitup Buttercup.
Today marks the 9th anniversary of my emancipation from my farm life.
I did not leave that relationship gracefully. I cheated with a 20 something at my job, got caught and thrown out with a laundry basket of clothes, my purse and my jeep in the middle of the night.
It was violent and messy, and I am so fucking grateful that happened.
I moved in with the 20 something because I honestly had no choice. The people at the gas station where I worked had become my temporary family and with their help, I was able to get my stuff out and into storage. And I slowly but surely started to rebuild a life from absolute scratch.
I never went back after that and apart from a couple years here and there, where I was being stubborn about stupid shit, I became who I am now and I am happy.
Well, I will be happy after my doctor’s appointment. I need some answers. And I need this anti-inflammatory pill to kick in so I can see if that’s part of this.
I have Tibetan singing bowls on in the background. I am looking around my room at all the things that need doing before I head out and although I am terribly afraid of the future, I am hopeful too.
If I survived the tumultuous catastrophic events of October 2011 and the 7 years of hell that preceded that day, I can do anything.
