Inertia Creeps

It's amazing to feel the changes in my body developing without physically being able to see them. Like someone who knows she is pregnant but she isn't showing yet. There is a massive shift & growth going on yet it remains hidden. Chronic illnesses are much the same-the person can feel a flare coming on where their symptoms magnify. Sometimes the flare comes on gradually in the distance-you can see the storm clouds & hear thunder but it may take hours to actually rain. Sometimes a flare comes on very aggressively & sudden-like an attack that is fast & forceful. I often feel like I am being stalked by this illness-not knowing when or how tough the impact of attack will become. Will it stalk me like a white shark, taking it's time, or launch from the depths with a crippling hit.

 

 

Posted with Blogsy

All work makes Marnie a dead girl

So as this push for us suddenly moving then suddenly moving weeks sooner is happening, my body has given out. We had/have been saving my room for last, & it was a disaster. 5 years to go through of substitute items as my real ones were/are packed in a box, now 3 states away. Cards, little post-it's, the 'get well' to the 'I know you're dying inside' to throw away, dust off if keeping. 5 years of 3 beloved pets, 2 buried now in the ever fleeting back yard & 1 curious but sick wonder bunny & the fur & dust that comes with shedding, cat litter, etc. All of the huge undertaking that I had to give up from my mail art/pen pals days, letters never answered in physical form but in my mind & heart-when it became too much to write back I would mentally plan a reply with the art & handmade paper & envelopes I would send. Clothing that got put in another room, for me to go through soon & keep or give away. 95% will be given away, as they don't fit since this body is no longer mine & has very strict rules on what it can or will wear. Mom & dad's things stored in 'my' closet. After trying to help as much as I could while watching my dad fall, cut his face, sweat, vacuum, & sneeze while mom was having heart attacks downstairs worrying. After sleeping & rolling over in a thousand times in this loosely based sleep, I've woken now to a furious back, mad as I just got spinal shots & have basically cancelled them out. I did so little work but I could feel myself pushing too far as dad's face dripped with sweat & hopes & good intentions. My brother & family here on vacation are coming back tonight & I don't know if I'll be able to make the trip downstairs to see them. This was Chai bunny's reaction yesterday, framed in hiding.

 

The guilt of being sick

As dad is in my room, vacuuming & preparing for the carpet guys to come measure for carpet to replace what Chai bunny & I ruined, my heart breaks. I feel I shouldn't be allowed even to have pets. We say some people shouldn't have the right to have kids in their care & now I wonder the same about me after Chai bunny passes.

After seeing my brother, his lovely wife, & adorable nephews yesterday, I woke up today so sore my arms feel like they have been run through pasta maker arms that flatten over & over-& I wasn't even able to sit while they ate lunch, pick up my one year nephew & barely could gently hug my older nephew. I realized as we will soon live a few miles away from then they are probably realizing that I will become their burden-one they don't deserve, need, or should have to handle.

 

 

Swollen, dirty tears

After my neuro appointment, eyes so swollen & tears so spent

 

 

Unseen forces

Facing & fighting the unseen forces. Moving, spinal shots Thursday, mixed faxes & doctor/clinics fiascos, etc

 

The rooms

She sits on the cold, uneven, pebbled floor looking up at the curved, winding, beautiful cliched staircase. Not able to get up the stairs she's searched all the bottom floor. Through the long, narrow hallways which seem more like strangely familiar passageways she finds so many doors. Each doorway holds magic. All different colors & tones & decorated in styles all their own. She used to take photographs of doors all around the world, & somewhere lost in an obscure mislabeled box the remaining ones are framed & unloved. Her search for an opening is exhausting, as she has to stop every 3-5 minutes to sit & rest. In the old days those passageways would have been scavenged in minutes-not hours. Each door has a unique doorknob...some ornate, some simple letting the door itself be the star, some a repurposed item like an old chalice. She keeps reaching for a camera that no longer is there, trying now to memorize the details in hopes of dreaming of them later for pain control. Trying so hard to create or grow a photographic memory, her brain gets foggy from the search, the turning of locked handles, & the endless sitting down & standing up. The final passageway brings her back to the side of the staircase, & she realizes there is one final door. She hears something inside, & after turning the handle & being met with continued resistance, she looks through a storybook keyhole. It is the only thing adorning this plain door-so unlike the others, yet the peeping keyhole makes up for the lack of character. She knocks, puts her ear to the surface, & looks through the keyhole. She can't make out much as it is getting darker, but through the room's window there's a bit of light & she sees a cat stretch, yawn, & go back to sleep after a hostile look in her noise filled existence. She gives up, goes back to the stairway landing, collapses gently on the tiny little rocks & wonders what to do next.

 

Tangled up layers of a person

It is hard to know when I see myself which parts have been there all along, which are just coming out, & which are just the way my persona & body & soul are coping. I wrote this earlier tonight, as the house was getting ready to be shown to sell. Me behind the filth, the perceived anger, the not included in decision making then when I get 'angry' what you see. Me behind the 'how can you live like this?' me behind the purposeful lives of my siblings & their families. Me behind the failure. The pain. The searching. The lost. The forgone conclusion.