I meant to take a day off. Then it turned into a couple of days. Not by choice; just circumstance. Suddenly I found myself yesterday, in the middle of the afternoon WITH my new trial shoes, feeling kind of blue and I couldn’t figure out what the fuck was going on. My bro asked me and I said ‘I don’t know; I haven’t written in a couple of days’. I was surprised at how angry I was just over not writing.
And it’s odd how strange this suddenly feels.
I let the girl have time. She eventually wrote, after being prompted and given a promise I was listening to her. Then she spewed. Same old complaints at the beginning; writing it out was stupid, I’ve said it before, it’s not going to change anything. Then four fast scene sketches of the strongest memories coming up in my brain. While I was writing them, I had no thought over any of it. When I got done and re-read it, I realized all but one of them happened within one year when I was 14. Obviously a pivotal age for me. All of the memories also had to do with sex. With men coming onto me sexually. There was simple flirting (how exciting!):
Kevin is too cute for words and I’ve got a bad crush on him. He kind of flirts with me once in a while. It’s a little dangerous and thrilling, and I wonder if we were alone would he try to kiss me or do more.
Kevin IS flirting with me, I know it, his girlfriend knows it, everyone knows it. His girlfriend hits him.
And there was far more than simple flirting:
An older man begins to talk to me. He seems nice at first, and flirts with me. Then he starts to talk about sex. Sex with me, and what he wants to do to me. When I tell him I am only 14, he tells he that really makes him hard and he wants to fuck me up the ass so hard. I am scared, and leave.
I was naive and didn’t want to appear so, so I faked a lot of conversations at that age and pretended I knew more than I did. Later those lascivious advances from men would become desirable; at 14, it just scared me. I told the girl she did great. We set aside time, she used it, and we didn’t fall apart. I’m not sure what I need to look at in these memories, but they’re foremost in the teen girl’s brain so I’m not gonna diss them.
My sleep has been heavy and long.
My pain level is increasing, seemingly every day.
The truth hit me yesterday evening, as I was walking back from shopping at Albert Hein. I guess I’ve been telling myself the pain in my feet was all due to bad shoes. It isn’t. Don’t get me wrong; these new trial shoes are great. I’ve never in my life had a pair of shoes that fit me like these do. They take all the impact pain off my feet. The pain that’s left OVER, though, that’s what I’m talking about. And it seemed to me that once the impact pain was taken care of, I was able to feel the REAL pain going on and man! It isn’t good. I no longer have one or two spots on my feet that hurt with every step. Now my entire feet hurt every time they hit the ground. Everywhere. Just that deep ache that shouldn’t be there. That deep ache that IS rheumatoid arthritis. Carrying back the few groceries I did set off my wrists, and I spent last night babying my hands while in bed, always waking up enough to make sure I wasn’t holding my wrist in some wonky position for hours.
Gimme more drugs.
I was the reluctant one to go back on heavy doses of methotrexate. I’m ready to stop being reluctant now. Ready to take it in injection form. Ready to be hyper vigilant about colds and silly illnesses that will drag me down.
Mostly, I’m ready to have less pain.
My dermatologist said pretty much the same thing when I saw him: more methotrexate. That will take care of the disgusting pustular psoriasis on my feet.
Can’t tell you how sad I am to admit that. I really hoped the RA had somehow improved. That I’d need less drugs to keep in under control. It hasn’t and I was wrong. My first rheumatologist classified my RA as ‘virulent and chronic’ and I guess he got that bang on. This disease wants to kill me. It’s taken my body hostage and the only option is to neutralize it however possible, even if that puts the body at risk.
Well. Ten years of living means more than 20 years of slow suffering.
Remind me of that when the 10 years are up.
But let’s face it: falling asleep at 7:30 because your body won’t stay awake no matter what you do just doesn’t cut it. I’m not 90, for fuck’s sake!
Meh…Sometimes I think it would be fine to lay down, go to sleep, and never wake up. That’s how tired I am. I understand old age, if this is the way it feels. Just so damned tired every minute of every day. All you want is release. I’m so tired right now I might just go back to bed.
More coffee. This cup should help keep me awake for another 10 minutes.
Eight days to go before I see my rheumatologist and get more medicine. I can do that. And I’m an old hand at sleeping in my chair.
Tra. la. Life is such a joy.
I also think I might be fighting off something.
I’ll check in when I can. Try to do it more often. In the meantime, if you don’t hear from me, I’ll be asleep. Guess I should look on the bright side: I’m not smoking much at all (don’t need to) and I’m not thinking too much (can’t).
For now, the struggle is over. Off to bed. My body wins.