Pushing Myself & An Ode To My Ex

Resting is not something that comes easily to me. I think I have a built in 'busy' bone that is not happy unless I'm doing something, and though I am a huge fan and promoter of self-care and rest as sacred and essential, I often find myself failing myself in the rest department.

I'm pretty sure that's why when I do get sick, like I have been over the last TWO FRICKEN WEEKS, I get really sick. I get bowled over by sickness. I get "do not move or I will kill you" message from my body.

If I were more mindful about having some kind of rest/busy balance, maybe I wouldn't get so friggen sick.

(My therapist would most likely roll her eyes at this and ask me gently not to blame myself for getting sick. She'd probably be right, but I do think there's something to the whole 'maybe if I didn't push myself so hard all the time, I wouldn't get so sick' theory.)

Here's where I get real honest with you:

I push myself because I'm terrified. I push myself because everything feels very tenuous and slippery right now. I push myself because I am alone and despite assurances from my ex that he will never let me end up homeless, I am still terrified of ending up homeless. I push myself because I'm solely responsible for myself now and there is no fall back position.

That blows. I know that's the position of many, many people, and I've certainly been in that position myself before, but after ten years of relative security, being 46 and on my own and self-employed and completely batcrackers neurotic, I find myself spinning my wheels with worry 89% of the time about things like 'what happens if I get sick, what then, omgdoom'... And then I start thinking that I should give up and get a 'real job'. And then I start to despair that I will end up working in a call center for the rest of my life and I will die alone in a low-income apartment surrounded by too many decrepit old cats who will eat my corpse before anyone even realizes that I'm gone...

You can see how this is not a good line of thinking, right? *laughs*

Predisone, by the way, does not help. Apparently, prednisone is a guaranteed mood disorder delivery system. Take it and, yes, you can breathe, but you are also bound to have rage, anxiety, inconsolable weeping, and suicidal ideation. Thankfully, I know that, so I can talk myself off the various ledges the prednisone has seen fit to stick me on. Right now it's take it or don't breathe, so I'm taking it.

And this is where I'm at. And this really blows. And there is nothing to be done for it but to rest and mend and know that when I'm well I will put one foot in front of the other and march bravely into my future, reminding myself continuously to focus on the present moment, on what I can actually do right now, on what is right, on what is good, on my work, on my self-care, on what meaning and beauty I can bring into the world...

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For the past two weeks, my ex, goddess bless him, has been shuttling me between my place and his so I can soak in his tub, picking me up various things as the need arises (tissues and Neo Citran and soup and prescriptions). He's taken me to the ER and driven me home. He's taken out my garbage and recycling. He's walked my dog. He's spent the night when I was especially sick and scared that I might die of coughing. He's curled up with me and watched all of Downton Abbey, a few episodes of The Walking Dead, and most of The Strain. He's taken me for brief drives so I can get some fresh air and listen to As It Happens on CBC. He's made a lot of soothing noises. That he loves me is obvious. We are family. It's that simple. I don't know what that means in the long run, but for right now, I know that if I'm in trouble, if I need someone, he will be there, and that helps with the terror. I'm over trying to leave him behind. It's not going to happen. I don't know if that means I'm going to be stuck in a rut - in a half life with him - for the rest of my life. Right now, I don't much care.

Present moment. Here, now. That's all I've got. That's all any of us have.

(Thank you, S, for your presence over these two extremely trying, miserable weeks)

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After two weeks of wanting nothing whatsoever to do with coffee, I woke up wanting some today. I see that as a good sign.

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I'm having a giveaway on my Facebook timeline. Pop on over to check it out.

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By the way, you should totally check out this writer, Victoria Erickson, who has been rocking my socks off lately and feels a little like an oracle to me whenever I stumble across one of her posts in my feed.