Sunshine and Rainbows


I haven’t disappeared, I promise. I’ve even been writing here, it’s just the last few weeks have built this heavy energy sapping post that I’m not entirely sure I’m ready to publish publically yet. I will, eventually, I’m sure. It’s things that obviously I needed to get out, and had something to say about…but to read it right now is so acutely painful and triggering that I know I haven’t achieved what I set out to achieve with it, and it needs to be coddled and molded into something less abrasive and salty. It’s meant to be raw, but it’s not meant to be salt in an open wound type raw… does that make sense? Does it matter if it does?

You might be able to imagine where my head has been at these past few weeks. Obviously no place fabulous, and yet, somehow, I’ve managed to muddle through more or less unscathed and still kicking. Always kicking. What I thought was a flare cycle seems to be a new level of normal to adjust to for now, so with finally recognizing it and trying to adjust accordingly, some of my burdensome doom and gloom attitude is starting to dissipate again.

I spent a few hours this week visiting a friend in an in-patient center for behavioral wellness (that’s a fancy term for the psych unit for the less PC of us), and as visiting hours were ending they were congregating for a group session that I was privy to the beginning of. The topic was recognizing our weak points as a starting block instead of an obstacle. It’s been replaying in my mind since then, twisting and turning and growing into a broader thought. This morning I woke up unable to bear weight on my left side. My hands were gnarled into misshapen fists hugged tightly to my chest, refusing to stretch and flex and cooperate with me for over an hour. The blind spot in my right eye was of no consequence because I couldn’t focus my eyes anyhow…..and yet, within that first hour of waking up, my little monster toddler snuggled up to me with his best boo boo face on and begged to go to the park.

Starting block, not an obstacle.

I’ve never leave┬ámy house with the rollator. In public I rely on frequent breaks and a death grip on shopping carts to remain vertical. I’m not sure if I’ve just been vain enough to not care that I NEEDED the rollator, but it’s been a sticking point for me for quite some time now. If I’m not well enough to function without it, I simply don’t go out. That is to say: I stay home and don’t function. Not healthy.

Today I went out, to a playground, with a walker. My goofy ass, in my Batman hoodie and Frozen high tops worried about looking like an old woman with her walker, watched the kids scream and run and play for HOURS, not just 20-30 minutes. The anxiety was ridiculous, but the longer I stayed, the less I felt like a spectacle. The more I focused on the little monster that had conned me out of this house with his pouty little lip and sad puppy dog eyes who was now delightedly cannonballing down slides and climbing structures designed to make mothers nervous wrecks. Afterward we even went out to lunch!

It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, here, but the rain is easing up….and that’s a change I’m ready to embrace.