So, i went to the neurosurgeon. He was very personable, spent plenty of time, and showed a whole movie of my MRI which sounded wicked cool. My neck has a limited area for spinal fluid to travel because of a herniated and bulging discs. Similarly, my back has degenerative discs, and severe damage in the area of my middle back and left hip. All of this causes pain and can be responsible for my tailbone feeling like it’s been hit by a hammer, though that is an atypical place for me to be actually feeling the pain from the left hip.
Surgery is not recommended because the main reason to do the neck would be to prevent anything serious happening in the future. If i was in another car wreck, even slow moving, i could have resulting temporary paralysis.
They can’t do anything for the tailbone pain.
There was more damage than what i was aware of, and in more areas, and i’ve been slowly letting that information sink in. The good news is no surgery. The bad news is nothing can be done to stop the pain. The doctor did suggest acupuncture, which Sir Raven is looking into.
My body shows the damage from car wrecks, from severe abuse, and memories are surfacing again.
It’s a bit like when you have a tooth removed, and your tongue keeps seeking out the spot that feeling like a huge cavern in your mouth, over and over and over again.
i receive the memories like they are happening underwater. It’s not as if i don’t remember being held up by my throat, my hands like little birds fluttering in their attempt to reach her death grip. It’s not as if i don’t remember being thrown into walls, chained up unconscious, being body slammed into a solid wood coffee table, and so on. But i don’t think of these things often. When they do happen, i just remind myself that i don’t have to think about this right now and breathe deep and slowly.
So, this intrusion in the last few days is unwelcomed. i can’t say i feel a whole lot about it, just aware. Aware that my body shows the damages done to me. i’m trying to work through the shame of that. i keep thinking about Brenne Brown who said that shame happens when we don’t talk about it.
At the same time, when i do actually talk about it, Sir Raven stops me. She knows enough of the stories-well, some-in enough details that she doesn’t want to “relive it.”
That’s fair. i get it. Even though talking about it doesn’t mean i’m reliving it-because i’m not. There is a detachment there, my dispassionate observer is my fucking hero.
i try to stop the loop, find a balance.
i have many times beaten the odds stacked against me, in a number of ways big and small, starting with my early birth.
i have at least a handful of times beaten out being temporarily paralyzed. i think about how i would have never escaped if that had happened, how i’d still be kidnapped and chained to the bed. The Monster would have loved it, my helpless dependence on her.
When i think of that, i push myself harder, faster, more. i haul laundry with a smile, groceries, with a smile, work though an ever longer list with my jaw set in determination. Sir Raven is weary. “Don’t over do it,” she says everyday. The glint in my eye, rage that needs expression, may be what stops her from saying more.
My worth is in what i can do, the service i can provide, and an MRI changes nothing. Nothing.
When i think of my mother, hearing my body being picked up and slammed into the wall repeatedly while the Monster screeched, threatening to rape me all night, that just makes me want to push harder.
It’s work to not hate her. i remind myself that the opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference.
My mother’s birthday was May 5th, and i consciously tried to send her compassion and love every time it crossed my mind. It used to be my favorite day of the whole year alongside mother’s day. i created a garden one year, with an expensive swing and glider, new table and chairs, and planted flowers everywhere. i bought her an expensive package where she could be in a glider, jump out of a plane, or go up in a hotair balloon. There was nothing that was too much, too inventive. My favorite birthday was her 40th, where i took her to Discovery Cove to swim with the dolphins.
She had a total nasty rage attack a few days before, and then cried like a child, asking if we were still going to swim. i rocked her, soothed her, of course we were.
It was a perfect day and i try to remember that, and all of the other days, every moment i spent massaging her daily. Grading her student’s work, making her bed, doing her laundry. i showed her love. That is all i can control.
And so i work to release the rest of it.
i had to start on the way to the appointment, forcing the adrenaline down and out of my body. i felt like a spent rag doll by the time we got there, exhausted, though my pulse was still somehow high.
i feel bad for Sir Raven, like i’m her broken doll, like i’m some kind of patient instead of her slave, her wife.
After the appointment, she took me out for lunch and we passed an enormous wall sized billboard of dresses at H and M. She was so distracted by the dress, we got lost. i laughed and teased her, that she was thinking, “I may have a broken doll, but Daddy’s gonna buy a dress and make her look nice, damn it.” We laughed and got more beads and string, and life goes on.
Predictably, i am full of regret, because what i need is for her to fuck and beat me like she doesn’t know any of this. Doesn’t even know who i am. Doesn’t care.
Instead, the pain ramps up last night to a fever pitch so fast that i can’t do what i normally do-ask to go watch netflix and cry without her knowing in the bedroom.
i couldn’t get up anyhow, and so i was laying there crying like a baby, until she picked me up and took off my dress and slid a nightgown over my head. She said she’d come to bed soon, and i tried to force myself to sleep to not be crying like a dipshit when she needed her sleep.
i wanted to curl up inside of her for awhile, but i kept the space she needs. i managed to stop crying, despite being racked with pain and put all of my energy into praying to sleep.
Sleep came fast, which is it’s own mercy.
Today, i’m thankful that my Master is strong enough to pick me up and that i’ve beaten the odds so many times over. i’m thankful that her work provides me with insurance, that it’s awesome insurance, and that my surgeon opted against surgery while taking everything seriously.
Today, i’m thankful for my friends, who have reached out in support and asked how i was doing, offered to come and help me clean, offered prayers i can feel.
Today, i’m thankful i survived and was able to walk out. My mantra was, “Leave or die trying” and i made it all by myself.
Today, i’m thankful for the Universe making way for love and for strength.