My body finds its own ways of making me listen. Sometimes it just has to scream a little louder.
I wrote this a few weeks ago but I couldn’t bring myself to post it, I’ve finally built up the courage, so here goes…
The sudden crashes are something I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to. I often find myself feeling guilty when I feel a crash coming on, knowing I have only minutes to get somewhere comfortable and away from people before I collapse in agony. I’m not sure why I use this time to find myself privacy, maybe I’m protecting those around me from having to see it, maybe I don’t want to waste precious energy talking or maybe I’m embarrassed to be seen so vulnerable and weak. Maybe it’s a bit of everything. Whatever the reason, I do it every time, and knowing the people I left behind will be wondering where I went, I feel guilty every time for not offering explanation, for simply disappearing without acknowledgment.
I’m writing now, though I know I shouldn’t. I won’t make it through a whole post but I need to get this down. Only hours ago I collapsed on my bed, buried myself in pillows and lay still, willing away the stabbing pain in my head until my partner realised I was missing and came to find me. I’m still hiding. I won’t come out tonight. There’s something about the gradual recovery from intense pain that makes me fragile and shy, almost as if I am afraid of feeling anything for fear it will trigger the pain again.
In some ways, I suppose, these crashes aren’t really “sudden”. I worked a full day today although I wasn’t sure I would, as I could tell from the moment I got up that something was wrong. Even my co-worker could see something wasn’t different and she’s only known me for two weeks. Most of the day I had a gentle throbbing headache. The kind I can easily ignore, and given the crazily warm temperatures my city has been getting I blamed the heat and persisted to drink more water. Rule #1: Do NOT ignore the warning signs.
Fast forward to home time, the mild headache still throbbing in the background, the short drive enough of a distraction to make me forget about it. Fast forward again and we are at our dance lesson. It’s still hot, too hot to really “want” to dance, but we are here and so we do. The hour passes quickly but the drive home, lasts forever, I can feel it coming now. I don’t have long. I hold out, begging my body to remain in control until we get back home. I haul myself up our stairs as efficiently as I can and fall onto my bed.
The stabbing hits. Hard. Clutching at pillows I bury my face, attempting to block out the light. Breathe. Breathe. In. Out. In. BREATHE JODIE. The pain remains, the knife slowly twisting through my forehead. I have not moved from this position when my partner comes to find me.
This crash was okay. I managed to eat despite the nausea and the painkillers pushed the pain back to that kind of tolerable level that I’m used to. In some ways I find myself grateful for these little crashes, they remind me to stay vigilant. They remind me to listen to my bodies whispers. My body finds its own ways of making me listen. Sometimes it just has to scream a little louder.