i got most of my to-do list done. Somehow, everything just took forever today. The buses were weird, with so many “out of service” buses in a row. Ugh.
So, anyhow, i got a mani pedi. i tried something new, called “cat’s eye” in a sort of golden sparkles shade. It felt sensational to just relax in the massage chair, not think too hard about anything. i had tried to nap first, without success. i had gone through a relaxation exercise, where you talk yourself through relaxing your muscle groups. i noticed my rib cage hurting, which it does sometimes, because it got broken. And i was frustrated, because even things that are supposed to help me stay in my body, bring on relaxation, can also cause a deeper awareness of hurting broken bones.
i sort of live in so much pain that much doesn’t make the cut, as far as me being consciously aware of most of it. i kinda notice when the lower back, legs going to sleep, or middle back shooting pain is preventing me from getting things done quickly enough, that sort of a thing. At some point, it just becomes an overload, and literally every bone hurts.
When the pain meds work, i get a real break, for about two hours.
When they wear off, its like being dumped into an abyss of pain.
Feeling decent when i left, i decided to enjoy the fresh air and walk one way. i got the mani pedi done, which was really nice. Then i grabbed groceries and took the bus to get my meds. In the store, walking to get Sir Raven’s favorite soy candle and some cleaning supplies, the pain just went off the charts.
Right then, for some unknown reason, the music that is played throughout the store got really, really loud. It was Carole King. The Tapestry Album always meant that i was required to be close to my mother, be there to kiss away her tears, apologize for ruining her life when i was born over and over, and assure her that being fucked up wasn’t her fault. Part way through the album, she would want to slow dance, and tell me that if we had been lesbians that she would have loved me. Tapestry meant a night of her crying, and trying to make it up to her. i feel huge amounts of compassion for my mother. Still.
For a moment, i could see her face, beautiful and sad.
i wonder what it would be like to have compassion for myself the way i have for her. i wish i had pictures of myself before my thirties, but i don’t have a single one. i keep thinking it would help. Once, in the shelter, i found my mothers facebook page, and was surprised that she had put a collage of 20 pictures up of me throughout the years. My ballet class pictures, pictures of me in the pool swimming wearing my favorite swim suit, her favorite picture of me that she took to finish off the roll but came out exceptionally nice somehow after i had worked a double shift. i was too exhausted to protest and my eyes did not evade the camera.
My grandmother would always become all animated when discussing a relative, who i never saw a photo of, but she would describe at length-her beautiful skin, her bedroom eyes, her tiny lips. And it would always end with her saying, “and she was so sweet, like an angel.” Her name was Mary Elaina. When my grand was dying of dementia, she told me she had come to visit her and brought muffins earlier. It was me who had brought the muffins, going home to shower and change clothes and come back. My whole life i had felt bad that i would never be that beautiful, and there i was, the epitome of my grandmother’s idea of feminine beauty and softness.
i recently dreamed i was in my grandmothers house, and i was excited to see all of the familiar pictures in the same places they had been in my whole life. The one where my grandmother had frustratedly remarked, “what are we going to do with this stupid hair?” My hair wasn’t going to make a pretty bun like i was white. She frequently taunted me over my hair. It took me years to get why.
Every year, i hope my grand will visit me for Halloween. It makes me cry that she doesn’t because i want to know what she was trying to tell me. i had been there for two days, was going to shower and change clothes and have a nap. She reached out, the first lucid moment in several days, and opened her mouth to try and tell me something. Her eyes were clear, her motions to continue to hold my hand deliberate. It was the last time she ever had any awareness. i explained i was going to shower and come right back, and she gave a small nod and leaned back into her pillow. She had been trying to talk, and couldn’t form any sound, any word.
i just need to know what she wanted to tell me.
i wonder if having that knowledge would help me. i love the woman, always have, and always will. i believe she will be there when i cross over, and that comforts me.
During the time i was still feeling the sedation drugs, i had a pretty deep conversation with Sir Raven, about what i needed to do if she dies first. i just can’t abide a life of grief, let alone the sudden falling back under the poverty line and being homeless and without insurance. We made an agreement and i feel a lot of peace now.
i’ve been having some grief work stuff come up. For one, i read about a possible cure for fibromyalgia, and had to face the fact that if that had happened five years ago, i would have asked Sir Raven to let me have a baby. On one hand, i’m glad that i didn’t make that life choice, because i don’t even know that my body could handle a pregnancy with so much damage to my spine. It certainly isn’t something i would consider knowing that i am permanently damaged, physically and neurologically. i don’t think it would be fair to the child.
i would still consider fostering, at least short term. It was a goal of Sir Raven and mine. We talked recently about how we had moved shockingly fast up the list for the building she wanted. It could happen in another year. i had thought we could go to a two bedroom, so that i could have an office and we would be able to offer short term foster care. And i guess i have some grief around this not happening, as Sir Raven has decided we will just be on the list for the one bedroom.
i am feeling some grief around my educational goals and plans.
i am feeling some grief around the limitations of my body, and that i can’t find a lesson in the pain. i have no idea what to do with the fact that everything i know about trauma work, which is fairly considerable, tells me to stay in my body. Yet, staying in my body is painful, and a reminder of all of the abuse i have lived through.
Fall is a time of letting go for me. Its a time to go inward, deeply, reflectively. Its a time to focus on the otherworld.
i think that we all come to learn, and that maybe i had abuse happen because i needed to have compassion for abusers. Maybe it is all just roles we play. How better to understand love than to love with all your might and then loose those people, and then love again? Maybe i just refused the role of abuser, because God knows i still do. Maybe if i could feel compassion for the little girl i was, it would help. i love the little girl i am, and that is enough.
i feel a slowing down inside, on a cellular level, like i am between the worlds somehow.
i’m trying to sit with it.
i’m trying to be still, notice, be aware.
This state doesn’t lend itself to doing All The Things for school, and i can’t seem to find flow there right now. i have to make this work. i also have to try and respect what is coming, because this specific energy means big changes are coming. i need to be fluid, ready, willing, flexible.