About Me

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Los Angeles, California
I am 47 and thriving in Southern California. One day at a time.
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Saturday, February 11, 2012

hurts so good

there are two hours in the day when i feel sane.

the time i spend at the gym.

and any hour spent at a meeting.

the rest of the day i straddle the newly-erected, immigration border, keeping hair-flying, screeching hysteria from immigrating to my delicately, balanced insanity.

duly questioned might be the quality of time spent with my husband. this is usually spent writhing under a self-inflicted, pounding headache; my judge and gavel, savagely sentencing my guilt and self-esteem to life without parole. it's been so long since i've seen my self-esteem, i'm hoping it'll appear like random chocolate eggs that go missing easter sunday, and show up in your flour canister when you least expect it.

today i tried on a couple of pieces from my untouched wardrobe, for the first time since mid-december.

it was not pretty.

and neither was the series of events that followed.

rip off several pieces of clothing over distended belly. weigh self on scale. pull on kevin's clothes again.

commence with the ugly cry.

i have never known side effects like these.

physically, i am a shell of my former self. within that hardened casing is a slimy, swollen slug who drags herself away from temptation at the speed of unlight.

emotionally, i'm tearing through tornado alley. daily. i've got nearly 4 months of daily meltdowns that would rival any terrible-two's, notched under my bloat.

so driving over to meet a friend today, my heart strings plucked out a single melancholy tune,

"i just feel so alone".

the kid's been acting up lately, misbehavin'; twitchin' and pullin', and it always makes this mommy a little nervous.

[but, no fever, right?]

my maternal instincts kick in and i reach to cover sharp corners of coffee tables, pick fallen change off the ground and blow cool air on her food.

but recently she's been poking at existing boundaries, with a very taut, very precise finger; testing my patience to the very limit.

"do as i say, don't do as i do..."

"when you live under my roof, you live by my rules..."

"this hurts me more than it hurts you..."

bottom line is, i can't control "the kid". i can girl guide her with a flashlight, and pray she finds the way.

because if "the kid" goes all rebel without a cause on me, i'm fucked.

"i just feel so alone".

and so i arrived at my friend, m's, house; chicken salad and iced green tea in tow and a silly, slapped-on smile. as i curled up next to her bedside, knit into the comfort like lifelong friends, a common connection was so quickly fused, i saw sparks. with her lupus in remission, she safely laid in my lap her tales of chronic illness and struggle, to muse, and her marathon with prednisone and its beastly afterbirth, to ponder.

shoulder replacement therapy.

no, losing her shoulder to prednisone was not the startling artifact of the day. i have always known about the inherent dangers of 30 years of prednisone, since i was diagnosed with osteopenia at age 32.

no, the treasure that i nicked and slipped into my purse was the sun-beaming joy i felt from listening to and sharing with someone else, the challenge of chronic illness and recovery.

"i don't feel so alone".

so although i emptied the ducts a few more times today; i did add one more hour.

one more hour of sanity.

3 out of 24 ain't bad.


  1. sending love. also, consider this: the fact that you are so self-aware and honest makes you much saner than those in denial or unwilling to shed light on their struggles. xo

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