Sometimes when I'm reading a book I come across an author who likes to wax about every gory damn detail, you know what I mean. I am capable of seeing the picture, filling the scene without every spec laid out for me, but sometimes the details, they mean everything.
Tonight I'm full of hypocrisy. First, I am NOT and author but I do write things, messy uncoordinated things. Second, and most important, I over-exerted myself knowing full well what I was doing and determined to anyway. Distraction can be a dangerous thing, but I'm not going to talk about the distraction thing I'm going to tell you about the after thing.
Fully exhausted I shuffle into my bedroom and sit on the side of my bed, for a second my mind goes utterly blank, jumps ship I can't remember why the hell I'm sitting here? What was I supposed to do? Oh right, pills. I sit for a moment longer before pulling out the drawer and going through the routine: one of these, and these, and these, all in a bunch down my throat. Now I get up (slowly) to pee, not because I have to but because I will eventually. I wash my face and brush my teeth mechanically, thinking of sheep or sleep, you choose.
Back in bed I pile up the pillows one in front, one in back for my knees. I smooth out the wrinkles in the sheets, because, that too -eventually. I lay back and grab my nook and think I might read, but my body is all beat up and my brain is flitting back and forth and back and forth and I swear I've read this page half a dozen times before. So instead I think relax, and try to focus on that. I can feel my heart thwap-thwapping painfully against my ribs.
The more I listen the more distinctively I hear the other things; heartbeats everywhere. There's one in my head shushing back and forth. There's another buzzing in my feet, and one low in my belly tripping over my intestines. They're growling, gurgling, and clenching tight. And then when I've paid attention to those things I realize there's a roar growing in my ears, like stepping outside a club at midnight. A screaming buzz that overwhelms everything. I clench my jaw against the screech and notice now how tense I am.
A band of pain stretches across my face and my head, my neck is one taught chord. My shoulder blades have met together and my hips are singing furiously. It feels as if every thing is connected by a string. Like that one loose thread you pull that makes the fabric bunch together and you can't seem to pull it apart without ripping everything. So I breathe, I breathe, I breathe. It helps me only to realize how sensitive my ribs are and every breath is stabbing me. There's a knot in the center of my back that digs deep and that breathing just can't reach.
I get a wave of dizziness, it's like riding an elevator. Just a second of vertigo and I feel my head dip like loosing consciousness, and my teeth clack together Involuntarily. A small buzz like shivers races up my spine and then I'm back to reality. My eyes are dry and my mouth is sore and I am so thirsty.
My extremities ache deep enough that no position sits them comfortably, I fold them forward I fold them back, I squeeze them tight repetitively. I turn to the right, but my knees are touching, my skin is all one big mass of sensitivity, I tap my chest, my butt, my thighs just to temporarily distract myself from my skin. Everything pops everything cracks I'm loosing my sanity. I turn to my left, but my ribs protest along with a small fluttering in my gut like a butterfly. I turn to my back and feel nauseous again, plus it's hurts to hold my book like that. So so so infuriating.
Back to my right and I can feel the relief only temporarily. I lay comatose afraid to move and what's the point anyway. My hips are screaming, my backs out of alignment but I feel like lead and I can barely read. For a moment I feel disoriented and hazy, my book slaps down painfully. I feel that deep down tug of unconsciousness and welcome it gratefully.
I startle awake tasting copper and something bitter, just this side of sick. I feel a little catatonic and I haven't moved an inch when I realize only an hour has passed. I sit up (Slowly) and stare dazedly and convince myself again to pee. This time it will be better this time it will be quick, I read, I read, I read. At 3 am I think; OK that's enough! And turn out my light determinedly. My heads spins and dances, my equilibrium shot and behind my eyes there's a riot of colors, shapes and dots. A psychedelics fever-dream. I toss and I turn and I huff and I puff, and sleep comes eventually.
I wake up and think, how could I have slept if I feel so miserably? So today I'll do less, and less, and less, and maybe tomorrow we'll see? This is the cycle: lather, rinse, repeat. Indefinitely. Try to understand what a toll this can take. I know that I often fall short of the mark, but getting out of bed everyday is a start.