My Body Is On Fire

A emotional health update you’re invited to witness

This was not the newsletter I was planning to write but the need for distraction is currently great. Currently meaning I am curled into a ball on the outdoor patio of Urgent Care between two metal chairs, the likes of which I believe were designed by a sadist.

I’ve made a few phone calls this morning to my mother (for comfort), to my part time employer (for assistance in covering a job), and to a friend (for help with a ridiculous task of buying corn for a party I won’t be attending).

Each has been a recipient of my ugly crying when they ask how I’m doing. It’s as if the question is enough to undo the large effort I’ve made to hide the pain happening in this moment.

Inflammation is the culprit, at least that’s what I am guessing based on what led me to the emergency room in May. It’s not the first time I have shown up in the grey-brown urgent care in tears and reassuring them I’m not here for pain killers just cortisol.

I try to hide my pain as best as I could but I’m not sure how well I can in the long term. I’m not sure where the inflammation derived from; originally I thought it coincided with my polycystic ovarian syndrome but after having Covid now for the second time I can’t tell you.

The pain brings a lot of emotion and negative thinking into my mind. Specifically I imagine what others around me might think about it.

Is she that lazy? Why does she take more time off work? I can’t see anything wrong. She should be better by now.

Maybe she’s looking for pity. You’d think there would be a simple solution…maybe she’s unwilling to take care of herself right. If she was smart she would just…

The potential thoughts of invisible people hurt me inside while my body feels like it’s on fire from head to toe, tendon to bone.

Is it wrong to cry?

Is it better to let people see tears or do I look weak?

Why do I treat weakness as this ultimate failing?

Where is this narrative on pain coming from in my life?

Worse still is the thought that my pain tolerance is building, enough for tears to publicly end, which might mean I’m viewed as dramatic. I am proficient at taking the waves of secret pain and letting them wrap me like a pair of nude-colored pantyhose. Pain is becoming closer to my daily life than I care to admit.

The fact of the matter is that I don’t have a point to this newsletter today except to admit I am dealing with a lot of pain and a lot of messed up narratives in my head. I have no answers to it and I have no way to avoid it. And as a mother, I’m still going to be there to pick up my daughter at the end of the day and nurse her while I hold back tears when the muscles start to cramp and her toes dig into my invisible bruising body.

I carry on. I figure out dinner.