Finding home

Today was one of the most painful, exhausting days yet was the day I felt most at home. I often have CFS (chronic fatigue syndrome) symptoms-extreme exhaustion-just walking 5 steps to the bathroom can leave me worn out. I slept on & off all night & day, & finally figured out that putting pillows under my arms helped the pain a little bit. Having extreme joint/elbow pain from rheumatoid arthritis, fibro, & oesteoporosis causes painsomnia. Even with the pain, tiredness, & fever-like feeling, I felt really at home today. For me, home has always been mental & not based on location-living in the Czech Republic I felt like I was home...& in the mountains of Brazil it seemed I belonged there. Deep down of course I knew that moving here would work out-I never have minded change, for that signified excitement & new experiences...but that was when I was moving around overseas, etc. Today even with boxes still packed & no pictures on the wall it didn't matter. Sleeping in my old bed, with 8 pillows arranged in order of relief, & a fridge full of Marnie safe food, & Chai bunny resting underneath my foot as if it was a bunny nestling above her head, mentally I felt ok with the world. Mom had sent over a jar of flowers-ones that had broken off an arrangement dad was taking to put on my brother's grave Sunday-& with wet hair from sticking my head out the door watching our turtle-who we named Pepper-walk around in the pouring rain, I took this picture to capture my happiness. To document the proof that I was ok. That even with tremendous pain I felt at peace. That my little purple house had become my home.

 

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Beautifully Broken

We have loads of flowers in our yard-red, yellow (my late grandmother's favorites), & pink roses, as well as white cabbage roses. Huge bushes of gardenias which smell amazing when the wind blows just the right way, & these purple flowers on an almost tree size bush. Mom discovered that when they wither up they become heavy & break off, & the ground below is littered with the fallen flowers. They are very pretty, but the ones that fall off become a darker shade & are a much more beautiful, very different looking flower. The live ones remind me of the normals-people who don't have the chronic invisible illnesses. They give to the world. They add something. The wind picks them up & their scents fill the air. Many people I've talked to feel guilt over not being members of society who work, do good for their communities & add positive aspects to the world. Every Monday especially I feel such guilt that I'm home in bed when most people are out contributing to society. Having been a teacher I really feel as though I let my former students down. I'm the burdened withered up broken flower who now litters the grass. Though I much prefer the darker, richer shade of purple I've turned into, trying to get through the guilt is so heavy that my petals pull inward inside the center, become very heavy, & prematurely fall to the ground. I know my guilt is unfounded, yet it's still there, on the back burner of my conscience.

The flowers open full-we aren't sure what kind these are.

Dried up fallen ones that mom brought over last night.

The gorgeous colors of the dying, withered blooms.

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Stillness

Some days the impact of what I CAN'T do overwhelms me. I've been living this way for years now, but certain days I wake up from dreams in which I'm not sick, then realize I still am. It's quite a cruelty joke-in my dreams I run, dance, love, date, am with friends...then the stillness hits me.

 

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