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| Brindle |
on Fri 14 Jul 06, 6:10 AM to Brindle's blog.
In so many ways...
I've been waiting for day for my joints to start cracking again. I've never had joints that 'popped' as such. Occasionally a stray "snap" would catch me unawares. But really, my feet were the only things that held ever appeared to hold an unseen army of typewriters within them. Clacking away with such regularity and frequency as to become a part of my everyday life. They never, however, experienced any PAIN associated with this strange happening. It was just a personal oddity. Like the way some people can roll their tongue up, or quirk an eyebrow. Or have the ability to work out percentages.
Since the CFS/ME tho?
They hurt. Oh boy do they hurt.
Nagging, aching, throbbing, nasty, insidious, uncontrollable, random, invasive, dull, sharp, horrible, annoying and FRUSTRATING pain.
Not all the time I admit. But I'd say that you could apply the old '80/20' rule... 80% of the time, I have 20% of the pain. It's just a shame that the remaining percentage isn't pain free! But that's another story...
Anyway.
My bones hurt. Pretty much everywhere.
And I've been waiting for what feels like DAYS for the joints to crack. As it does help relieve the pain. It never USED to, when my feet used to pop. But now?
I search that pain out. I hunt it down. I find myself in public getting strange looks from people because of the way I'm manipulating my hands in order to get stress onto a particular joint. I find myself having to explain to complete strangers that yes, that odd noise that sounded like rifle shot was actually my ankle, or my shoulder joint, and no... they don't need to be worried.
So, today - I will be going out in public sounding like a fading, folorne, but somewhat gentile and forgotten, performance art project.
You know! The kind that started off in the mid 80's by investigating 'industrial' and 'electronic' noises... but then got slightly side-tracked by E's. And World Music. And politics. And art...
And now my soundtrack is like a somewhat erratically stoned version of Stomp crossed with Test Department (the early years....), with a subtle, underhand bit of Stockhausen thrown in now and again. For fun. Just to make sure you are still awake.
(For reference http://www.stomponline.com/show2.html http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Test_Department
http://homepage.mac.com/bernardp/Stockhausen/ksf... *)
Set against this every creak and crunch and ache and gasp of breath, is his funeral. Today, 1.30pm. And I can't get there. I'm not well enough, emotionally or physically to do that journey. To such a time and place. On my own.
And it would have to be so. I've asked so much of close friends recently so I can't - and feel I shouldn't - ask them for help with this. And even if I could, I'd have to think about Honey, as in all honesty, I'd want her with me seeing how they loved each other so and we support each other.
And physically. I can't.
I just can't do it.
Because my aunt died on Wednesday and I need to save my strength and stamina so that I can get down to Oxford to support my mum, help with the arrangement for the funeral, play co-host at the wake, clear up afterwards - and be an executor to the will.
I admit - I'm struggling. (Although I didn't ACTUALLY burn the house down on Sunday, or set out to skin somebody alive on Tuesday./Wedmorning.. both of those thngs were real, solid possibilities. Put it this way. I've even been scaring myself)
Which is why I feel that, as I'm surrounded by so many bones - emotionally and metaphorically - my real, inside, living breathing, physical bones are struggling too.
Bone weary.
I always thought I knew what that meant... I'd experienced pain before. Internal pain. Skeletal pain. But this?
I feel ancient, diseased, stunted, crippled. Hanging onto life and sanity by my fingernails. I am on 'pause'. My life on hold as I struggle at times for every breath, every exertion an effort, every thought obscured by fatigue. I am bone weary. My bones hurt inside me and I want to rock myself to sleep...
If only I could.
If only I didn't hurt too much to put my arms around myself and hold on tight. And if only I wasn't too grieving and torn apart with it all to sleep at all...
I'm fed up of this. I'm still here - just, but it's getting out of hand.
I don't WANT to be a victim. I don't WAT to be asking for sympathy or for the only reason I blog to be to tell my tales of woe.
I'm FED UP with this shit. And of the pain I feel surrounded by. In the lives, ad deaths of those around me. I know hat loving those around you puts you at risk of the pain of loosing them, and that's it's a fact of life and yes, yes OK I ACCEPT that.
But if I had to loose them - did it have to be so many? So dear to me? So close together?
So bloody painful?
B
-§§-
* Note - this man composes music such as "Helikopter Streichquartett" (1993) - string quartet with 4 helicopters....
Edited Fri 14 Jul 06, 6:14 AM by Brindle
