I have woes oh woe is me I try so hard to never give into the woe is me my skin (diagnosed with HS yesterday look it up oh the shame of it! Silly silly don’t be ashamed. Started a Biologic yesterday) and woe the head and its fissures of electric green terrible aching never know when it will hit how can I ever keep to a schedule if I can’t ambulatory myself on any given day and also notwithstanding the soul-killer the brain its bouncing tigger-like and then, bam. Bipolar days. Bipolar crush.
And going to a new doctor oh the shame of it somewhere deep sorry-I-take-so-many-medications sorry-I’m-so-fat-taking-up-all-this-space sorry-I-talk-so-much-make-so-many-jokes…while at the same time loving myself in all my quirk and all my largeness all my smiling smiling it’s not great it hurts a lot oh god you want to put a needle in it a shot another shot? oh well….geeze I get thirty-one shots in my face/head/shoulders every three months so that my head won’t burst open with the migraines that I get every single day without treatment what is a little shot into a painful sore and of course me biting the gown I’m in always-feels-like-naked-full-skin-check-and-all-that and it felt like nothing, that little shot into the infection, unlike the shot of the biologic my husband jolted into my arm last night but really maybe this biological mess of proteins will change my life.
And if I stick with the food therapy….oh geeze. I have brought up the food therapy but I can’t oh woe is me about this because everything will get worse obsession obsession obsession where are the friggin’ donuts? If I can manage to keep the agony of food obsession at bay then I am plus plus plus positive. And love the marvelous body I’m in it still WORKS how lucky am I the girl with the Xmas plum. Seriously. It’s quite amazing to be me in spite of all the woe better to move about the world happy than think of size and all that rotty rot rot rot.
But this anger that eats away at the stem of my being. I cannot spend so much time being angry. Yes this banana boat of an empire in which I live feels like theatre feels like the perpetual joking of a misbehaving teenaged demi-god. And orange, long my favorite color, is burning a sick chemical hairy fuzz of meanness. But when I zoom back and take the long view hover above time like an eagle, I cannot not see the progression of the human race, that things overall are better and getting better. Maybe until they get worse. The great collapse. But….I need to stay in the air to pass through all this and if the disaster comes the army invades I’ll be the heavy sack of tired givingupedness sitting on my suitcase on the road out of the city the energetic and desperate hoards streaming around me.
I just can’t stay angry. I cannot abide the despair it fosters.
I am estranged from my grownup child, over what I’m not entirely certain. And their behavior is infuriating me how the baby boy that grew inside me that filled me with such delight singing “It Had To Be You” together during bath-time that was such a charming child people would say We Should Just Start A Religion and Worship Him that could sing with me an unraveling musical while we walked about the house oh woe is the mother the put-upon mother the sadness the sad sad that rips the chest open and the birds of heaven fly into the attic and feed on my heart NO.
No! No! No!
Then I get so angry I want to just kick them to the curb and be done already they’re lucky I didn’t chew off their head at birth oh woe is me how sick to be such an angry such a rageful such a I-would-be-so-mean-given-the-chance mother.
But that storm has passed after a good crying and wailing and Dale to the rescue as always the salve the sweet ointment always there to stitch me up and kiss my wounds. Oh lucky lucky lucky girl.
The crux, perhaps….the doctor put me on the biologic because I need to keep moving, must keep moving it is my nature to keep moving, and I just can’t as things are. (There is also the question of whether I have Sjogren’s, which I most likely do, and if this biologic helps, then we will know more about all those other possible inflammatory conditions, and oh yes I have fibromyalgia too.)
And that is the long of it my woe my delight my lifting up these great white birds what come and fly me upward what wing me with their wings and feather me with their feathers what look into my eyes with all their eyes and hold me still.
~r.
