Blinding Pain

“Blinding pain” is one of those expressions one reads and hopes to never fully understand. It’s an apt description, though. There is a certain degree of pain that will make your vision swim, will make your world turn white.

I never, before now, understood what a full 10 on a pain level scale felt like. I’ve hit 9 before. This is my first time at a 10.

My empathy for people who will do anything, anything at all to just make their pain go away has increased dramatically. I get it now. Last night, I took a CBD oil pill. It didn’t help. I don’t dare take a muscle relaxer. I don’t know how it will combine with my other medications and I don’t trust my dingbat prescriber to know.

I poured a glass of wine. It didn’t do anything for the pain, but it took the edge off my misery.

That’s another thing about pain like this. Perhaps it’s a sign of a poor character, of weakness, but with pain like this comes misery and tears and self-judgment. Thoughts like, “I probably did this to myself somehow,” “I’m so stupid,” “I should know better,” and so on plague my brain.

It’s because I’m in such poor shape. It’s because I’m lazy and I’ve let myself go.

Or, it’s because I did too much over the past few days. I was so proud of myself for prepping all my food for the week, but I did too much in one day, I was on my feet too much, I should know better than to do that to myself.

Physical ailments bring depressive spells. Depressive spells bring an inability to exercise. Lack of exercise brings on a higher likelihood of physical ailments.

And around and ’round we go, never getting better, always having to be careful, always living just on the cusp of the next bout of sickness, the next flare-up of neck or back pain.

At least all my food for the week is prepped. I still have a few pairs of clean underwear left, so I’m okay on laundry for a couple more days.

The trash needs to be taken out pretty desperately. The house is at the degree of cluttered that starts to get on my nerves and makes me feel motivated to tidy up. The clean laundry has now taken over more than 50% of the free floor space in my bedroom.

But there’s nothing I can do about those things.

For now, while I’m immobilized, I shall continue my adventures homesteading in Alaska with The Snow Child.

I have food. I have clean clothes. I can get by for another few days. There is much to be grateful for.

Everything else will sort itself out in due time. For now, I’m okay.

It’s times like these that make me hate being single, hate not having a partner. It makes me worry about getting older, about what will happen as these occasions where I’m incapacitated get worse with time.

That’s not now, though. I can’t do anything at all about that right now. It’s on my mind, but it’s not a productive topic to dwell on.

For now, I must focus on figuring out this pain, what is causing it, what I might be capable of doing that will diminish the likelihood of it returning.

Perhaps, someday, I will have a partner. Perhaps there will be someone to help pick up the slack when I’m unable to carry everything.

Today, though, I will lie back with my cats around me and I will read. Let’s face it… there isn’t much else I can do.


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