give it up already

Day 2

Monday August 13, 2018

It’s no wonder I’m still sick. Lately I’m living in my head more than my body. Not doing my usual stretches, my breathing exercises, not having the energy to dance. All the things that keep me here, tethered to this body, aware that I am more than just a bunch of raging noise in my head. At first I stopped because I didn’t feel well. Now I’m just being stubborn. I’ve been sick for over three weeks now. I’m pretty much over it. As in: fuck this noise. (A favorite expression of mine. It comes from my best friend and it sounds a lot cooler when she says it). But the ear infection is indeed healing.

This isn’t my normal kind of sick. I’ve got a few chronic illnesses. A couple are physical, the other mental. They visit, stick around awhile, causing mild or severe havoc like hospital stays and surgeries; but other times I just need to stay in bed for awhile. Eventually, symptoms clear. The sickness leaves. When it comes to the physical stuff, it’s pretty unpredictable and always disruptive. But I know these waves of symptoms aren’t arbitrary. Myriad influences interact to create this tidal ebb and flow of illness. Considering them all seems endless. Untangling them is impossible. I don’t understand how it all fits together. What did I do to cause this? Or what went wrong in my body? I can drive myself crazy trying to figure it all out. Sometimes I just don’t care.

I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease when I was seven. I’ve definitely spent years waging war against this particular disease. I spent those same years hating the battleground the disease claims: my body. There is more to this story. So much more. But that’s for another day. I’ll just say that I have spent most of my life feeling like my body is a traitor. I’ll also say, for the sake of sustaining hope and reminding myself of how far I’m come, I don’t feel this way anymore. (This is true most of the time).

My body and I are on better terms these days. I wouldn’t say we’re best buds. But maybe we’re getting there. The trick is that I’m learning to listen to it. With a shit ton of work and loads of practice, I’ve become more skilled at reading it’s messages. Actually acting on the guidance it gives me is a bit harder. Today, for example, I have had the damndest time getting myself just to lie down.

Earlier this afternoon I’m typing away, excited to be in a flow that’s leading me from thought to thought without much thinking. I am determined to finish this blog post and want to work until all the kinks are smoothed out. I will write through meals, through dog-walking time, until the thing is done already. I am so close. I think. I pause mid-sentence. Then I notice my body, like I’ve just landed in it or something. My shoulders are tight, my breath is shallow, my brow furrowed and a dull ache is settling into my head. I realize something: I am exhausted. I take a breath and get back to the page. Follow this thread, soldier on; I will finish this and I will finish this RIGHT NOW. Okay, now my head is really starting to hurt. I stop typing. When I’m struggling, with anything really, physical/emotional/mental/spiritual I’ve found it helpful to focus on my breathing. So I inhale, and it’s a deep one, right from my belly. I exhale, letting go. Then I take another breath. I realize something else: I am fighting the need to rest. I shake my head. This struggle is familiar. With a sigh of surrender I close my computer and head to my bed.

p.s.

So here’s the biggest reason my body-mind fights this battle of wills his afternoon. (I wrote the following passage last night):

Lying on my yoga mat, staring up at the glass-less light fixture in the half-dark. I see my grandfather how he once was; a child, blond bowl cut in a black and white photo, later as a young man, tall and lanky as a growing oak, in love with a black-haired laughing woman- my grandmother- and then I see him in the nursing home, a place I have not yet visited, his tremendous frame bony and worn away, folded into a wheel chair, rolling himself outside to sit beneath the shade of the nearest tree.

Right now: my body holds itself in check, my breath follows. I think, yup, this is exactly what I’ve been avoiding all day.

What I am not yet ready for: the tears. Belly wrenching grief that will crash over the rocks of my body until just a sliver of me is more whittled down than it was before this storm.

There is a lot more to say here. In my twenties, even a few years ago, I would have written until I was done; until it was all out of me and onto the page, and until what I had on the page resembled something someone else could understand. I’m thirty-nine now. I know better. Even if I’m pissed off about knowing better, annoyed at the reality of having to stop writing to eat or go to bed, I’ll do it anyway because my body is a queen and it’s where I live, damn it.

I’ll end by saying this post is not what I wanted it to be. It feels like a far cry from complete. But it’s going on 7pm and I have to deal with dinner. I can’t come back to this later because then I won’t sleep. This means I’m done here for the night. I’m not happy about this. But tonight I will eat my dinner and I will (hopefully) get some sleep, and this very imperfect post will be just fine on its own.