I am thankful for many things, and for people without whom I would not be here, as in not alive. However, some days are too painful to explain. Mental pain, emotional pain, and most of all more than ever is the physical pain. One of my knees needs to be replaced. One of my hands barely works anymore. And, just the past few days, one of my hips feels like someone is piercing it with a sword. I, like so many others, live with migraines and a bad back. Those are the “usual” days. You’d think I’m in my 70s or 80s, but… no. I am not supposed to have surgery of any kind, ever again. It’s too complicated, and just the mention of it makes me fearful based on knowing the risks I face.

And, there’s the constant worry about what’s going on with the parents and at least one of my siblings (the one who had an emergency last week). Things are on rocky ground, with all of them, in different ways. I wish it didn’t all directly impact me, so I could breathe and not worry about basic things like, where would I go if something happens to any of them.. or when something does… it’s all a mess. I try to numb myself from what’s going on, or the possibilities, but then it is in my face and I can’t hide from it. It affects me and I don’t sleep, I barely function, I can’t get my mind to escape the pain I’m experiencing non-stop, let alone turn off the part of my brain that needs to feel secure about life. I wish I could make the family members better. I wish I could make me better.

I can’t focus to be creative. When I sit down to knit, all I do is make mistakes. I haven’t touched paint in months. I got them out and a cat traipsed through my setup one day in February. I haven’t bothered since, because there is no designated space that can be closed off from other people or the cats, the room I sleep has no work surface to set up even a small project. And, writing… UGH. I have been staring at some of my WIPS. I pull one out and stare. I try to get a few things down, then I second and third-guess it all and end up deleting it or stuffing it back into a folder, hating how it doesn’t make sense or go anywhere. It’s all part of a vicious cycle. I feel guilty trying to relax, I worry about others, I hate how I feel and the pain I am in, the treatments I’ve done and medication I take doesn’t help… and on and on and on it goes…