Stop picking

At last it is Friday, the days of the week don’t often bother me what day of the week it is or what is happening outside of my home to be honest. I look forward to the weekends, to having Adam at home and to having some company if that company always spends half the day asleep, he is still here. It is not just the weekend though that makes me glad it is Friday, it has far more to do with that feeling that it is an island in the middle of everything and usually allows me to stop and sit a little more than the weekdays do. Physiological foolery I know but it makes things feel better so I grasp it with both hands, I even find myself almost expecting my health to respect the downtime but it never does, why would it. That just struck me of this wonderful image of illness disappearing, if you like, clocking out on Friday evening and returning on Monday morning, if only.

I don’t usually read the day before post before writing, I try not to do so as it then changes what I write on that day and opens the possibility of going over and over small points day after day when they would other wise become what they should be yesterday. But clearly I did this morning, I’m not totally sure why I did, but for once I felt I needed to. It hurt. I don’t know truly how my writing affects others but I see it as a place to let everything pour out and hopefully a place where others learn or find someone feeling as they do about their own lives and or illnesses, or at the least sparks them to think just a little how millions of others like me, housebound and ill, manage to move forward in their lives. Reading yesterday hurt because OK I wrote it but reading it back it felt raw. I feel raw just now and I am the only one who can heel this pain and move on, but I have this strange need at the minute to pick at the scabs every few hours, just to see what will happen, has it healed or will it just bleed again. I suppose that makes me a child, well only a child would be that stupid, or I am just testing myself to see if I can really deal with what the future holds as well as I would like to think I can.

I think we all hit points in our lives, able bodied as well as chronically ill, when we reassess where we are and where we are going, usually they are the moments when you check your relationships with friends and family, or your career choice, or even just the colour of your living room walls, things that can be changed if need be, well I’m at one of those points, but what can I change that I want to, nothing. My life is what it is and it will never be any better as what I want to change is changing on it’s own. So today I have to stop picking as I know what will happen and the truth is I need to pull myself together and get on with it as I have been doing for years, I have done it this far and I have no doubt that I can do it through this next phase as well. What has changed other than reality, my reality. All the things that have been pulling me down physically over the past few weeks are there to read, as are the physiological lows, I can’t control any of them, I can’t climb a ladder and paint that wall, or go out and get a new job. all the things I used to control without thought, don’t even need thought any longer because there is only one answer to all of them, I can’t.

What I can do, well I can stick that smile back on my face and I can change everything in my head, if not around me. I can learn to love the muddle that is now life, I can laugh at the stupid things I can’t say as I can’t remember them long enough to form the worlds. I can look in a mirror and love the hair that needed dyeing weeks ago, I can start proactive movement rather than reactive to the pain I have, I can do all the things I have done now for years and I can remind myself that scabs bleed if you pick them, so leave them alone.