TFTFL- Confusion in the Muck

This battle.

This fucking battle….. 

To start off with the , ‘we are in unprecedented times,’ (no shit Sherlock), is a patronizing sticky glob. I think by now most people recognize that since the last official World War, there has not been an event that has effected people on such a large scale.

Will it go back to normal? What was normal? What will we try to take away from this? At this moment, sitting in my chair, trying to focus on the task at hand (it is not this I can assure you) I don’t fucking care what human kind decides. I am trying to decide what will get me through the day. I believe this is where many people are at. 

The pandemic and its isolating measures have compressed many things. We can not be together, we are told to rely on electronic communication. We know how often electronic communication is miscommunication. Everything is a dichotomy. There is no right way to handle what these times bring, yet we are all so vocal about what we need, it feels like constant chatter that no one is actually listening to.

In the shut down, important tools have been taken away from people that help them in their daily lives. This is what is eating at me. This is what is dissolving me. This is what is defeating me. 

I am still trying to be helpful, maintain purpose, be the thing I want have in this world. Offer space, reminders of self care, empathy. Not only to those I can (family, friends, clients), but to myself. It is wearing thin.

There is now speak of going back to work. Being able to resume getting people back on my table. In my heart I know how badly some need this. I know how badly I need to do this. I love my job, it fills my cup. And trust me, I do have gratitude. I am terrified.

I have been shown much appreciation and love and kindness over this last while. People letting me know that my messages of kindness, respect and empathy have been helpful, checking in with them has meant so much. That I am missed, valued and they can not wait until we can see each other again. For this I am grateful.

Yet today I feel so broken, so fake, so tired, so full of fucking pain. Full of fear that I can not do this any more. 

As my clients have come to rely on massage to alleviate their pain levels so they can function, feel whole, connected, calm and that their core person is valued enough to receive that care, I have come to rely on the same. 

My body had determined about two years ago, that weekly treatment worked best. This is a unique thing, to find the rhythm of care, but I had. My own chronic clients understand this all too well. We get maintenance care (some things can not be fixed, just patched ), and due to lifestyle, and other factors those patches can wear off in a week, two, maybe even a month. Then the pain and/or disfunction return, sometimes creeping in, sometimes like a freight train. To those that do not live in my head or body, my weekly treatment may have appeared excessive. It is has now been weeks since I last received the skilled hands on that help to let me function, move, think and feel ‘normal’. I am acutely aware of how far down I am.

Old injuries that are destroying my joints are screaming. I can not move with out feeling something sharp, restricted and weak. I have been mildly joking I am like a T-Rex. There have been moments i need my daughter to brush and pull my hair into a ponytail, because I have neither the range or strength to do it. I try to push to exercise (this is a much needed piece to myself care ) but it too has become a source of frustration rather than salvation. My mental health pain is determined to make its presence physically known, is at levels that are making rational emotional thought a monumental task. The physical and mental pain has become a loop.

So my voice is added to the babble. Lost in the expressed chorus of wants and needs of others. Trying to catch myself and the negative patterning. Trying to not take others (non)reactions personally. Trying to allow for understanding. I feel like I am screaming into the ether. I feel like I do nothing but complain.

‘Buck up. Shit has to be done. No point in whining. I HURT. I can not keep doing this. Pain meds hardly work. I need a soft place of understanding, not patronizing. Thank you for the love. Fuck why can’t you hear me? I’ll stop talking about it. Please listen I am not well. I am fine, it just is what it is. Do you see now why care is so important? FUCK THIS!! Please hear me, talk with me. LEAVE ME ALONE. I just want to get dressed with out feeling nauseous. I want to sleep. Don’t patronize me I am not weak. Help me please.’

I work at distraction, try to busy myself to be of service where I can. Step out when the noise becomes too much. To ride through the sharper parts of the pain. To manage what I can.

I am tired. How do I navigate getting ready to go again, with whatever version of normal that will be? When I am not sure I have even been navigating the now with any great aplomb. I feel for my daughter, trying to help her move through her altered life. My husband, my friends who all face their own challenges, all have their own needs. How to make it fit. Make it work.

So as I sit here, in my chair, desperately trying to focus on the task at hand, the refrain that the powers that be keep telling us, ‘we are all in this together.’ is thrumming the the fog of my brain, and all I can think is that I think, I have never felt so alone.

How are you doing?

Tomorrow is another day.