Well this silence is odd
How foreign is that
There’s this strange
Dizzying in my chest
I love it
Can I keep it?
Change smiles softly at me
It will be back
Once it leaves
by Daphne Shadows
I don’t need a good excuse
Therefore I have the right to be
By Daphne Shadows
(Don’t forget, we’re human beings not human “doings”.)
“I know of people who are bedridden. I’m not saying I’m not grateful.” I smirk at her. “You know I’m a lot more grateful now, than I ever was. I see the greatness in my life, the potential, options, beauty, goodness.”
I look down, play with the black tassel of the zipper on my bag. “I fight it. I don’t think I’ve accepted it, how it affects me, controls me, every day.”
My therapist smiles softly. “How do you fight against it?”
“Struggle to be awake, to focus, to get rid of a chronic illness, one of many. It’s like I’m filled with lead in a world of people filled with helium. And I’m sitting here berating myself as if I’m only being lazy.”
“And how would you be if it didn’t affect you?”
I shrug. “Without ME? I’d have energy. Suddenly not be affected by it at all. Be able to focus and be part of my life. I actually like life now. I want to be here for it. Instead I’m sleeping it away.”
“What do you think you’d have to do in order to stop allowing ME to affect you?”, my therapist asks.
My laugh is short and without humor. “Be God.”
She laughs and smiles. “You’ve got it.”
“There are only two things you need to know about God.” She holds up a finger. “One, there is a God.” A second finger. “Two, you aren’t God.”
“You’re experiencing a lull, yes. But it’s normal.” She responds to my concern. “Life does this. Humans do this. It’s like going to college. At first, you’re excited, you’ve got your eye on the prize – your degree, your desired job. Freshman year is a breeze. But then it gets hard. The homework. The papers get harder. The professors, the lack of sleep.” She looks at me, kind, clever, and all-knowing as ever. “You’re somewhere in your sophomore/junior year. Keeping going.”
“Right,” I agree, nodding my head as I think it through, “life is always going to be hard.”
I brighten a bit, a troubling issue illuminated. “You’re right. I’m doing everything I need to be. I’m taking care of my responsibilities and striving to do better at being kind to myself, accepting myself for who I am. I’m finding ways to enjoy my life. I eat some froyo and deal with the minor migraine later that night. Then the next day I go back to eating the way my SIBO having self can deal with, without regretting or getting down on myself for indulging. I’m still trying and in many ways succeeding.”
I smile to myself. Take a deep breath in, let it out.
“My depression and anxiety are just taking me through a detour. I’m still on the right path.”
I’m about to go to my therapy appointment.
Feeling a bit… shall we say… internal, today.
Self-analyzing, philosophical. Quiet.
I’m also truly there again.
Not completely, it’s only a minor slope. But it’s a definite downward lull.
But then again, I do.
Why else would I feel on edge?
Depression and anxiety feed off of one another, trapping me between a rock and a hard place. An immovable object against an unstoppable force.
I’m find joy in multiple things today.
I feel joy in the lesson I’m about to prepare.
Joy in the donut I’m going to eat after I get back from therapy.
Joy in the book I have to read.
The dog staring up at me with big brown, curious, loving eyes.
The options, choices to be made.
The possibility that I could work on my writing today.
Even though I probably won’t.
I don’t have any energy. It’s not just physical. Emotional energy. I’m out of it. I’m not certain if its depression, anxiety, or ME/CFS. Perhaps all of them at once. But I’m drained of the ability to move, motivation, energy in general. The strength to lift my limbs. The world is a murky pool of molasses, my body a thick, awkward figure of solid iron and cotton balls.
Not of desire. I’m not robbed of that. I want to create. To work on my writing. To piece together my lesson. I feel inspired.
What’s the point of all this blogging stuff going on here?
Is this post relevant?
Is it pointless?
Am I complaining, yammering, going on and on about myself?
Or am I connecting?
I’m not entirely certain.
I have these moments.
Where I’m outside of myself.
Wondering, what am I doing?
There’s a hard place inside me
Where none can hurt me.
This is a solitary place.
These moments settle into me
With a velvety grace
Lace against bare skin.
Where I’m lost.
Not a haze
Perhaps I do hurt
But I can’t find my way.
A thick paste
I do not understand.
By Daphne Shadows
Pigeons are gray.
They’re other colors too.
Pigeons are dorky goofy.
I’ve decided I don’t like the work dorky, I’m going for goofy from now on. It’s what I actually mean.
Do you ever say things out of conditioned behaviors? It’s annoying.
I’m trying to find all of mine and get rid of them.
My clothes are basically gray, black, and blue.
I have one red shirt, one dark pink shirt. I’d rather call it close to mauve.
My slipper boots are gray and chocolate brown. They go well together, those colors.
I like the slipper boots better as they keep my feet warmer.
I think gray is unfairly disliked by most people.
I like gray.
It’s not dreary or doom-ish in my opinion.
It’s also on my wolf/husky plushy. Which I obviously like.
Also, the color of the skull on my desk.
Not a real skull. Unfortunately. I’d get in trouble if it was real.
A lot of people have chosen to talk about their chronic illness for this daily prompt.
Why does the color illicit this subject?
Perhaps it is connected with shades of grey. (The phrase not the abuse-celebration book series.)
Chronic illness is a grey area.
Not much known.
Not many people are given hope, answers, a way to live with what they’ve acquired.
So, we figure it out on our own.
Perhaps it’s a dreary, lonely road with more question marks than possible answers. But I find I don’t hate it. We’ve all got our struggles, demons, and suffering. Through acceptance, I can learn to deal with my chronic issues, chronic diseases, and chronic illnesses.
Is an interesting topic.
Warm and cold, soft and solid at once.
What is grey?
I really liked this person’s response to today’s daily prompt: The Fantasy of Gray.
What is grey to you?
Today’s daily prompt: https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/gray/
(just in case you want to try it out)
Some random tweets and retweets tweeted by yours truly.
And yes, I know, I forgot the “n” in “unknown”. Shameful. *hangs head*