Orange Bottles

The computer monitors on the desk become blurry.  Words are no longer legible.  The bright white light from the screen is nothing but a blur.  As I shake my head, a hand from the invisible forces grips tighter on my shoulder, tightening all the muscles in my neck and arm.  It hurts to lift my coffee cup up to take another swig and in doing so I gently wince at the pain.  I stand up, stretch, walk around the office, gently bend over and touch my toes.  This is the same routine I've done dozens of times already this morning. 

The hot searing pain is progressing intensely. No, no, please no.  I already missed a day and a half this week of work. Please.  I need to stay.  What can I do?  I grab an ice pack from the freezer and quickly apply it to the SCM.  I rub an essential oil pain mix all over my neck and temples.  The pain is getting worse by the seconds.  My hand is growing heavy.  Lightning bolts of pain stab my chest and halting my once even breaths.  I take deep, long breaths of all the air I can gather up.  Stomach pains swell over me as I think about all the ibuproferen I've taken this week and how much it burns my stomach lining.  Tears are at bay as I think of my only option.  I have to do it.  I have no other choice.  I need money.  I need to get my work done.  I am so far behind I'm already drowning in work.  So many people are already disappointed.  

My purse is hanging on the coat rack above my dog gently snoring on his bed.  I reach in and find a familiar plastic cylinder object.  I pause, gather myself, and slowly pull it from the bag.  The label reads: Tramadol:  Take 1 tablet by mouth every six hours as needed for pain.  I set the bottle on my desk and stare at it.  Guilt, anger, and sadness wash over me but those feelings are quickly drowned out by the waves of pain that are getting stronger.  I open up the bottle, split a pill in half and pop it into my mouth as quickly as I can so maybe I can pretend like it never happened.  But it did.  And it will happen again and again.

Days home from work aren't entertaining.  I normally can't leave the couch or the bedroom.  Doctor appointments aren't a good excuse to get out of anything.  The worst guilt is from trying to explain to people why I can't participate in certain activities.  But this is our biggest battle... Pain killers.  They aren't our only option, they're usually our last as we try to lastly vanquish our symptoms that do not leave us.  Chronic pain sure isn't for the weak.

                 Equanimity,

                              Kelsey

The Mirror.

I often find myself down the rabbit hole of continuous lucid nightmares.  These nightmares aren't like they were when I was a young girl.  Clowns aren't sitting in rocking chairs next to my bed.  Goblins aren't coming out of my closet doors.  Aliens aren't taking over the world.  No, these are much deeper, much more intimate.  As I close my eyes listening to the hum of my box fan on the shelf, my brain dives into the deepest, darkest corners of my brain and nit picks any anxiety I have.  

I walk down a valley on a worn out black top trail.  Everything I see is in black and white.  I am alone.  I am not afraid, but I do not know what I am exactly searching for.  Along the path are aged trees with pieces of bark dangling from their limbs and bodies.  There is no sound except for my calm footsteps.  I see no one and no one sees me.  I come to a fork in the road and at the crest is a vanity with a faded mirror.  Just as I always have, I stare into it, trying to find answers.  Trying to find meaning.  Trying to find purpose.  I stare into my own eyes and beg myself to figure out what is wrong.  I scream and shout and pound my fist against the glass but like always, it's unbreakable.  I get no answer and I scream harder and I pound my fists harder and suddenly

I'm awake.

Sometimes I wake up drowning in a pool of sweat.
Sometimes I wake up out of breath clutching my chest.
Sometimes I wake up, open my eyes, stare at the dark shadows on the wall until I fall asleep, zombified by the fact that I can't escape this nightmare.

I've been finding myself staring off into space more and more during the day, during mid conversations with a friend, in a meeting at work or watching a movie at home with my animals curled up next to me.  I think about that nightmare often.  I try to make excuses for what it means; but I already know what it means.

I'm lost. I am so incredibly lost.  

I am the inbetween.  I am post-chronic-pain, pre-healed.  I am floating in a life that I'm struggling to find peace with.  I have been known for the last many years as having pain and not knowing what to do.  I strived to find answers, solutions, prescriptions that would have no side effects, doctors that didn't think I was crazy.  I pushed the boundaries of my own human form when I didn't even want to take another step.  I finally had THEE SURGERY to fix everything.  

That was a year and a half ago.  Today as I'm writing this, my neck is flared up, my brain is irritated (side effect of lovely Tramadol), and my body has had enough.  Days like these are hard to explain to someone.  I want to be happy and I see happy things around me.  I have always been known to make the best out of every situation, but lately my mind has forgotten how to exactly do that.  

I do not know exactly who I am right now.  I want to be the person that takes up areial acrobatics on a Saturday afternoon, but instead can't even find energy to clean the house.  I want to be a person that can work 60+ hours a week to save up for a house but I'm mentally struggling with the load I already have.  I want to be the best I can be for my relationships with others, especially for my significant other.  

I fear daily I will go downhill exactly to where I was.  I am afraid I will lose friendships again because I cannot commit to plans.  I am afraid I will lash out at my parents for things they cannot control.  I am afraid I will lose the person I love the most because right now I cannot give them my all, even though I am trying.  The anxiety of these fears alone has been consuming my brain.  

There isn't a day where I don't feel guilt.  If my boyfriend helps me with the dishes or brings in the groceries or helps me with the animals, I feel like I'm weak.  If my neighbor cuts my lawn I have to thank him at least 2-3 times so I don't have a breakdown.  If someone helps me lift something at work, I curse myself for not being able to be strong enough to lift it. 

I'm putting a lot of pressure on myself.  I thought I would be healed by now and ready to take on the world again.  I didn't think I needed naps anymore to give my fatigued mind a break during race weekend at the track.  I thought I could go to work, get home and clean the house, make dinner, shower and still have time for a movie or reading when in reality it's a shocker if I make dinner and shower. 

My body is fighting me.  It's screaming at me to stop and slow down.  I'm afraid if I slow down I'll be swept back into the ocean of pain and fatigue and medications and this time I won't be able to swim ashore.  I waited too long to slow down.  I want to live and breathe and experience new things and not be chained to my bed or couch every day.  

I want to feel happiness when I stare into that mirror.

I thought I could curve my brain's overanalyzing flaw by staring at myself in the mirror every day.  I'm not talking look  when I'm putting on makeup or brushing my teeth.  I close the door, turn my music off and stare deeply into my eyes, waiting for an answer or a sign.  

It's not at the same time every day.  I will look into a mirror at work, at a bar, in my car, a reflection of a window on the street or even my phone.  Any time I'm feeling the urge get answers, I stare at my reflection.  I never get a straight reply from my brain.  

But I am starting to understand certain aspects of my struggles and how they are wearing on me.  While looking into my own hazel eyes, I see sadness.  I look around my face and see bags under my eyes, new frown lines, dry worn out skin.  I see hair that is up in a pony tail after I struggled to make it look nice to fit my face shape.  I see my scar peaking out from a v-neck, and I pry the collar over to see my second scar, much less noticeable and pale.    I see my shoulders slouching and heavy.  I feel pains in my legs from standing too long.  

I am exhausted.  I need time.  I need a break from myself.  I need to get out of my own mind and detach from what I've gone through and from all the mental pain.  If I can't achieve this, I fear everything will fall apart.

Gripping onto my equanimity,

Kelsey.