Wow, what a apropos Daily Prompt. I was gonna do a kind of confession post today anyway. ^_^ So, yeah, let me get candid with y’all. Candid, means truthful, straightforward, and frank according to Google. So while I’ve not been untruthful to you, dear reader, I haven’t always been straightforward about everything — even with myself.
Here’s the thing, I’m going through something of an existential crisis right now. I have been for quite some time. Years even. I think the length has been pushed out because of the year or so I was on the Cymbalta, which made me kind of a zombie for that time. But anyway, here goes. I honestly and truly have not come to grips with being disabled. Like, logically I know I cannot do things I was able to do before… things like work, or walk for long distances, or even fully clean my house. Logically, I am aware that my physical ability is limited. I know this. I understand it fully. But I still have this idea that I can do these things if I just try. That I should be able to do them, I mean, why can’t I when they weren’t beyond my ability before? And it’s so frustrating when I try to do anything and fail. And fail. And fail again. How can this body fail at doing the dishes? What’s wrong with this picture!?! Logic doesn’t play a part in this thinking.
So yeah, while I often portray myself as someone who’s just tripping through life and going with the flow, that’s more how I want to be than how I actually am. I mean, I make a conscious effort to go with the flow, because I logically know that there isn’t anything I can do about my rebellious body. No matter how many doctors I go to, I know that my body has had enough of my shenanigans and is forcibly making me slow the fuck down. Not that I ever lived in the fast lane mind you, but being a single mom with bipolar, up to four kids, and sometimes three jobs was a one way ticket to an early grave. So yeah, I can understand why my body pulled the brakes. But understanding why something happened, doesn’t mean I have to like it. Nor does it make accepting that it happened any easier. So underneath my, Yeah, there’s nothing I can do about it, so I may as well accept it. exterior there lurks this angry monster that rages “Why is this happening to me? Why? Why? WHY? and how do I make it stop?!?” Even though I know there’s no answer to that question.
And I’ll be candid about a few other things too… Mainly, that I’m bored. Bored right out of my mind. And I’m not looking for suggestions about how to get unbored. And I have enough hobbies, thank you. I knit and crochet. I know how to sew by hand and machine. I know how to do cross-stitch and embroidery. I have plenty of books to read. I used to have a steady enough hand to do beautiful calligraphy, but now it’s just passable. I tried quilling, it wasn’t pretty. I’ve tried tatting, it was… not for me. I play and mod video games. I watch videos on all kinds of subjects. I read articles online about a variety of things. I write this blog. It’s not like I’m sitting here and shouting into the universe, “I’m bored! Amuse me!” But it’s no use taking up a crochet project if I’m not going to get any pleasure out of making it and am only doing it to fill the time. And the reason I stopped watching television is because just about everything I saw on it was… well… tedious. I put away a series of books I was reading because it started to get repetitious — it’s a problem when a story is set in a series… Anyway, my mind is bored.
And my being bored is not a new thing to my being disabled. My disability has only exacerbated the problem because I have a lot more time on my hands. Believe it or not, I was bored when I had a house full of kids and three jobs to fill much of my time. So there’s that. An ex-boyfriend once said to me, “Only boring people are bored.” and I told him to fuck right off, because I don’t believe I’m boring but I am often bored. Before my body quit on me though, I had options. could go out and take a walk, for example, and that helped. Cleaning and/or rearranging my entire house was also a good way to expend excess energy. I’ve mentioned my penchant for doing that before. Sometimes, I’d just get into the car and drive. Just drive. I’m not sure why I’m not doing that now. Gas prices probably… because I’d normally drive until I ran out of gas then fill up, turn around, and come back. In extreme cases of boredom, I’d move. Like, “I’m totally tired of this place. I need to get out of here.” And that was that. First chance I got, I’d move. It’s why I have so many previous addresses (28 at last count). However, this is no longer a viable option. Not only because my health won’t allow it, but because I have a husband who has a lot of
crap *ahem* collectables and precious items he carries with him… and four pets. It’s nearly impossible to rent a place with four pets. Plus, moving was a temporary fix at best — which is why I did it so often. I mean, I knew that logically, just as I know that scratching an itch doesn’t help, but man, doesn’t it feel good?
So anyway, now I’m bored with no relief in sight because I’m disabled. And I haven’t come to grips with my disability. It’s getting kind of crowded up in my brainpan. ^_^ And I’m at a loss here. While writing in this blog fulfills the need to write, which is important, it doesn’t scratch that itch to do something. Right now I’m filled to the brim with restless energy and I have no outlet for that energy because my body won’t allow me to do what I used to do to get rid of it. I considered briefly getting a punching bag and whaling on that for a while, but I think it would end up gathering dust in the corner like so many other things do (I’m looking at you, stair climbing machine). Plus, I’d probably hurt myself hitting a punching bag. I mean the other day I thought that I’d burn through some of this energy by tearing up a pile of paper (it’s worked in the past) and ended up hurting my shoulders. I’d love to just go out and take a walk. I want nothing more in the world than to go out and take a walk to the store. Y’all have no idea how much I want that. But, dear reader, I can hardly make it to my mailbox and back and that, dear reader, is as candid as it gets. I just wish my mind would accept it. That’s proving to be the hardest battle of all.
via: Daily Prompt: Candid
As an aside, whenever I see the word candid capitalized, I can’t help but think of Candide, ou l’Optimisme by Voltaire. I’m gonna have to find a good translation of that book and reread it. It’s pretty interesting. That was my first thought for a post, but it’s been so long since I read it I don’t remember enough to make a good post.