I go back and forth as usual w/ writing in so honest ways —it puts me on a stake, with my wrists inverted out, in pain…per usual. Understanding that I’m always in pain because of my arthritis diseases is a different kind of pill to swallow though. I made myself promises about pain meds into the new year, but on evenings, days —like today.
There’s actually nothing to reach for at the moment, so making due w/ writing seems more productive. Cause,
I can write for hours about an affect of what it does to you, I’m not quite sure the difference in the pain or the pills somedays. All I know is, I was born with these things attacking my body. Once again, you make due.
On a weird day, off the back of more oddities. I sit upright in the same ways I did as a kid, I wrote a lot then too…it’s silly looking back —Not much as changed, I actually am…more reserved, for whatever reasons. Maybe in defense, maybe because talking about pain —mine. Is something I was doing before I could even understand what a “tolerance” meant.
My tolerances not to pills, or pain(s) but,
Understanding these are virtually invisible diseases, invisible pains to whomever but it happens every time I meet someone new, and a question is asked about myself…it always comes back to me talking about pain, my own incarnated nightmares, a heat-death of a summer that coincidentally felt as if it wanted ‘Me’, dead —all the same. I wake, I adjust for a new level of my own body’s contempt and go, again.
There’s therapies, there’s medicine, better in art to me. I may have always been aching but it’s over ten years of making songs, writing lyrics, audio-engineering. If i say the raw number of 2200+ —I don’t know how it makes me look. I worry about ego, my own…how I despise it, but also learning to reconcile with it for, it’s still me and I’m still my ego. I’ve worked hard to understand myself to that depth, and I don’t know what you do then, with it. Shout?
I hope the art speaks for itself most days, I don’t regret anything in my life. Living the earnest way since my diagnosis’ inceptions actually just throws more roadblocks in my life these days. Ripping back control of not my body even, but soul —i’d like to say it as. My own.
There’s so many beautiful things to me in my head but feeling myself curl over a sink, splashing cold water on my face —extremities. To ‘wake up’, to get somewhere, somewhere new, something new. There’s always something to chase, or in my life, why I can never seem to sit still. I’m sure you may do the same—
I just have a good excuse, maybe you do too. And I’d hope you can find that.
-alice
xoxo