Archives for posts with tag: cure for pain

I slept somewhat poorly last night, restless with pain mostly. My dreams were filled with chaos and uncertainty, and the occasional random spider. Odd. I woke in the usual way, dressed and left the house, head still full of chaos. My thoughts as I drove up the highway reflected the restlessness of the night and the chaos in my head; I reflected philosophically on a variety of seemingly unrelated ideas, the only connecting thread being my own individual perspective, as I exist today. Useful? Hardly. Barely interesting, already forgotten.

I get to work, in less pain than yesterday but still feeling it as a distraction. I take my meds, get some coffee. I sigh and get things set up for the day. It’s a routine work day and I’m grateful to be working…but…

…Fucking hell life is expensive, and “enough” doesn’t always feel like “enough”. I say this acutely aware that I write from a place of relative privilege. Things could be better, yeah, but they could sure be a lot fucking worse. (And have been, in past eras of my life). My pain grates on my nerves – but so does my feeling of discontent and stress over the future. (Will I ever retire? It doesn’t seem at all likely at this point, until lack of fitness for such endeavors forces me out of the workforce to exist on whatever resources remain. A grim thought, and I try not to linger in this place.)

I breathe, exhale, and relax. Some days it is a force of will to be in a positive frame of mind. This doesn’t mean inauthentically silently screaming positive aphorisms to myself in my head or forcing a smile to the people around me while I proclaim that “everything is fine” – that doesn’t work. “Fake it till you make it” is not my way; I haven’t found success there, myself. Instead, I rely on practicing gratitude – legitimate, heartfelt appreciation for the things that are working, the things that feel good, that things I have, or do, or feel, that truly lift me up. There’s a lot to be grateful for, and generally the very temporary feelings of stress and discontent will pass if I don’t dig in and build myself a trap to fall into. So, here I am. I “feel around in my headspace” looking for a route to reclaiming my sense of self, my perspective, my feeling of being empowered… I remember I playlist I started once-upon-a-time that might be helpful right now… “No F*cks“. Hmmm… Pretty short playlist. I distract myself wondering what to add that fits the theme. I have definitely found that a “positive distraction” can help shift my mood from the dark places my thoughts sometimes wander.

“Anxiety” 10″ x 14″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic 2011

I breathe, exhale, and relax. I catch myself wondering about the background stress and the thread of anxiety running through my thoughts. What’s up with me? Is it work? Is it life? Is it my doctor’s appointment later today? Oh. Yeah, that could be it, for sure. I sigh quietly. Aging has it’s ups and downs, and the doctor’s appointment is no big thing, but it brings my anxiety about my pain and long-term wellness concerns more to the forefront of my consciousness, where I thoughtlessly push it back in the form of anxiety. “Saving it for later.” Unproductive. I take a minute with myself. I do a quick “body scan”, and an “emotional inventory”, letting myself be more fully present and in touch with the feelings and sensations in my here and now moment. More than the usual pain, but a lot of it is still “just sore muscles”. My headache is worse than usual – and my health insurer (through their bullshit evil middleman) has decided not to reauthorize one of the few things that really actually gives me some pain relief (not a prescription drug, but a physical therapy). It “won’t fix anything”, which is their justification for denying reauthorization, and that’s certainly true – but there isn’t actually a treatment that will “fix” my degenerative disk disease, my osteo-arthritis, or the headache (at least nothing has been proposed as likely to be a real solution, so far). I would think relief and improved quality of life would be a good choice, with that in mind…? I catch myself gritting my teeth with suppressed fury. The pain is bad today, and I’m annoyed because it didn’t have to be, and it may be getting worse before it gets better. Cheaper to addict patients to powerful painkillers and shame them for being junkies than to provide care that actually eases suffering. Fuckers. Another breath, and I let that go. I can care, even if my insurer doesn’t. My Traveling Partner cares. My doctors care. Those things matter. Doesn’t make it easier, but I’m at least not traveling alone.

I let the music play in my ears, and sip my coffee. Sometimes enough has to be enough – even when it doesn’t feel like “enough”. Sufficiency is often not what I want it to be – it’s only what it is. Things could be legitimately worse – far worse. I’ll make the best of what is – because that’s the path I’ve chosen to walk. That’s the woman I most want to be. Capable. Fearlessly self-aware. Doing my best. It’s not nothing – and sometimes something is all I need to get by for awhile.

I smile to myself. I feel it still. I definitely do. It’s time to begin again anyway.

It’s a blustery unexpectedly mild morning after a night of steady rain, autumn in the Pacific Northwest. It’s Veteran’s Day, too, and although it is a Monday, I’m off work. The silhouetted trees sway against the gray sky in the pre-dawn darkness. It’ll be a little while longer until daybreak comes, and I’m in no hurry.

It’s been a good weekend thus far, and it’s a good moment now. Later, I’ll get some housework done, and maybe watch some anime with my Traveling Partner, if he’s not out in the shop with the new lathe. I smile in the darkness; good choice of birthday gift, and it’s good to see my partner on his feet and in the shop doing things. He’s still got quite a way to go recovery-wise, after his injury, and his surgery, but he’s getting there. I can’t walk that path for him, I can only walk my own alongside him.

The cars woosh by on the wet highway, beyond the trailhead parking. I sit quietly with my thoughts, enjoying the moment. It’s not fancy or particularly special, but it’s mine. I’m grateful for the mild morning, although I’m in tremendous pain in spite of the somewhat warmer temperature. I’ve spent autumn and winter in pain since about 1986 I guess? Something like that. This past couple of years it’s been all year, off and on, and this year so far more painful days than not. While that does generally suck, there’s not that much more I can do about it, without profoundly increasing my risk of addiction or substance abuse, or related bad outcomes, so I endure and do what I can.

One of the most important practices for enduring the pain I live with, without losing myself to it completely, is being present. Sounds simple, but takes a lot of practice. It’s easy to end up focusing on the pain itself instead of acknowledging it, doing what I can, and moving on to other elements of my experience in the moment. My results vary, but it’s definitely better than being mired in the pain of my arthritis and my headaches. So I sit in the stillness and quiet of a morning, listening to the traffic, and observing the lights of businesses and houses beyond the fields on the other side of the highway. I breathe, exhale, and relax, watching the sky slowly lighten as daybreak approaches on the eastern horizon. I write, meditate, and reflect. I enjoy the moment as it is, without giving much thought to the pain; it’s just one detail of many. Is it a perfect solution? Nope. Is it a cure? Not even a little bit. It’s just better than letting the pain become my world.

Daybreak at last. I hear the geese waking up on the marsh. I lace up my boots and grab my cane. One step at a time, I walk my path, and it’s time to begin (again).

I’m sitting in the car, parked at the trailhead of a favorite trail. I’ve got a cup of coffee, and I am sitting in the predawn twilight listening to the rain and feeling the wind rock the car. I’m hoping for a break in the rain as day breaks, it’s sort of the point of being here so early on a Saturday morning, but I don’t honestly care one way or the other. I’m mostly out here at this hour hoping my absence gives my Traveling Partner a chance to sleep in after a restless night, without me clattering about the house.

The winds toss the big oaks on the hillside and scatter their leaves. The rush and roar of the wind reminds me of other times and places. Strangely moving, although I don’t really get why. I sit here weeping quietly. The marsh birds seem to be enjoying the currents, eddies, and updrafts of the stormy winds. I’ve got a decent view and content myself with sitting quietly and listening to the rain fall, spattering the car.

It’s Veterans Day. I think about “then”. Complicated memories. I pause my thoughts to wonder if I am always so sad each year when it comes around, but I can’t recall with any certainty, and I’ve shredded all my old journals, and I don’t have many connections that have known me long enough to say. I did bring along extra tissues. If nothing else, I knew I would be feeling blue today. I let the tears come.

A huge flock of Canada geese passes overhead. I think of my Granny, and find myself missing her greatly right now. I miss her strength, perspective, and wise counsel. I miss her laugh. I miss long Sunday morning drives, and walks together down country lanes.

My head aches and the tears keep coming. I let them. Eventually I will either venture out for some time on the trail (if the rain lets up), or I’ll dry my tears and put on “my public face” and do the grocery shopping before I head home. My arthritis continues to feel “worse than ever” this year, but acknowledging that I am struggling with a bout of depression, I have to wonder if it’s just amplified by misery and sorrow? Would I feel better if I just felt better? Seems likely but I don’t know what to do about that.

As the sky lightens without any hint of sunshine, mumurations of migrating flocks rise up from the marsh into the winds. The car continues to rock with the strongest gusts. The grasses and shrubs flutter. Storm flung leaves fall onto the car along with the rain. It’s all very Autumn. I sit enjoying the stormy weather. It’s appropriate to my mood. I’m alone here, and no one will be made uncomfortable by my tears. They fall as steadily as the rain. I take them no more personally than raindrops, since I don’t even know why I am crying.

I sit thinking about how best to have a nice time with my Traveling Partner, without burdening him with my bullshit and baggage, or carelessly mistreating him because I am in a shitty mood. How best to comfort and support him, nurture the relationship, and look after hearth and home without denying myself the same care and consideration…? What to share and what to “save for therapy”? How to be kind when I feel wounded? How to work through the chaos and damage without creating it for my partner? How to refrain from taking things personally that sure feel fucking personal sometimes? I’d very much like to be a better person than I am. I know I am a better person than I once was. Like a child on a long walk, I find myself crying because it just feels too far.

… A harsh inner voice griefs me yet again over self-pity and catastrophizing utterly mundane real-life bullshit that everyone probably goes through at some point. I don’t stop crying, but I do take notice of how incredibly unkind my “self talk” often is. I should probably work on that. I’d feel better if I did, most likely. I know where it comes from, and I understand it to be all tangled up with my challenges with internalized misogyny – a result of so many crushingly cruel, diminishing, or abusive relationships of one sort or another with male human beings (and male-dominated institutions). I don’t know what guided the path I took that brought me here. Perhaps it just seemed easier to nod and smile and try harder to be one of the guys? There were (and are) some real benefits to being that woman. There has been a real price to pay. This shit isn’t unique to my experience.

… I could do better…

The rain keeps falling.

There’s grocery shopping to do. Meals to plan. Thanksgiving is coming and I’d really like to feel thankful when it gets here. The laundry has piled up – which should have been a clue that I was spiraling down. There are outside chores to prepare the house for winter, this weekend. There are paintings as yet unpainted and new recipes to try. There’s a precious relationship to work on and holidays coming. It feels like so much and I am fearful that I am not up to the challenge… I can only do my best.

I guess I’ve got to begin again.

This morning I woke just ahead of my alarm. I’m okay with that, the timing was right. I woke drenched in anxiety and doubt, though, which isn’t common these days and it’s really thrown me off this morning. The very excellent commute into the office? Mostly characterized by intense anxiety and fearfulness in spite of being both quite routine, and also a smooth and easy commute with little traffic. It makes no sense. I woke with acid reflux, too; maybe the emotions follow the physical malady? Maybe they cause it. I don’t know. I know that I feel… tense. Alert for the next thing to go wrong (though there hasn’t been a first thing, so far today or even this week).

…Fuck anxiety…

Work is good…so… it doesn’t seem likely that it’s “a work thing”. I’ve got a good thing going with my Traveling Partner, and things seem to be good with him… so… unlikely to be anything to do with him, or with “us”. This feeling is more a loose sense of persistent dread that isn’t attached to anything particular, but lingers in the background filling my guts with churning and knots, amplifying my pain, and spiking every thought with doubt and worry. It’s an unpleasant and uncomfortable state of being, and although I tell myself it will pass (and feel certain that is true), it’s where I find myself this morning and I must say I don’t much care for it at all.

…This sensation is sometimes the result of forgetting something incredibly important that I can’t put my finger on, but on this, too, I come up empty handed when I scrounge around in my consciousness and my notes for something it could be…

“Anxiety” 10″ x 14″ acrylic on canvas w/ceramic 2011

I sip my almost-cold coffee thoughtfully. I take a deep breath, exhale, and will my shoulders to relax, feeling the sensation spread, breath after breath. It helps. I let myself acknowledge that “I’ve got a lot going on”, and then also admit to myself that a similar amount of “stuff” might not feel so weighty under other circumstances. I also consider what it can teach me that the stress feels most closely associated with things I am doing – or want to do – “for me”: a manicure I started and didn’t finish, a book I’m almost through and haven’t finished, the holiday cards for the year, holiday items I may want to 3D print (which requires learning to use the new printer), make more shower fizzies, and something or another that I feel certain I’ve forgotten. When I list them in my head my anxiety goes nuts. It seems like too much. (“For real?” I snarl resentfully at myself, in my head.) It doesn’t seem at all fair that things I enjoy doing, that are in some cases legitimately self-care (and in others just things I very much enjoy) would cause me this kind of anxiety. Or… is it just the willful choice to do things for me that’s setting off my anxiety? That’s a concern I live with. It’s entirely internal, and has its source in that mightiest of anxiety well-springs – trauma and ancient pain.

A small sad voice in my head suggests “there just isn’t enough time for everything”, but this is another illusion. Anxiety is a liar. Yes, there’s finite lifetime, but there are many choices and opportunities, and time enough generally when I choose wisely. I take another breath, and another sip of coffee and watch day breaking beyond the windows of the office. I think about what matters most, and what I want out of the day (and the week, and the upcoming 3-day weekend). I think about paintings yet unpainted… and the passage of time. I notice my anxiety but also try to step back from the visceral feeling and in order to simply observe it.

…Damn, I’m in a lot of pain today…

Could the pain I’m in be enough to trigger this level of anxiety? Sure, it could. Does. Has in the past. I pause to take steps to manage my pain, and set the anxiety aside to re-evaluate later (to check whether or not it has changed after doing something about the pain I’m in). It makes some sense; my sleep was restless and disturbed by uneasy, anxious dreams – and I went to bed in pain, and woke with it at least once. It’s that time of year; the variable weather, the chilly nights, the return of the rain, and the dampness are all qualities that seem to be associated with more than usual pain (for me). So. I try to just let it go. It’s a thing. It’ll pass.

Fuck anxiety, though.

I’ll have to begin again.