I know all about juggling lots of moving parts. In fact, some might argue that I have taken it to an art form. “Never a dull moment” is used in reference to my life so often that it is almost, but not quite, funny. I might even thrive on the chaos, but cannot make that assertion, as I simply don’t know anything else. Sounds dire and moderately hysterical, I know, but I, by some oddity, feel somewhat, kind of, in a way, on top of things.
As tantalizing as my announcement that I am living in a shitstorm may be, I am not here to elaborate on or share anything in particular. I’ve certainly got stories to tell, but out of respect for the various players, I am keeping my big mouth shut. That being said, my mind is a-racin’. My sleep is fragmented. My mood and patience are tentative. My heart is a little bit broken, in part because in every one of these situations, I am literally powerless. I can do nothing to alter, improve, destroy or dismantle the existing conditions. Ruminating and fretting: check. Obsessing and worrying: check. Eating my feelings: check.
The other night, while distracted by two or ten things, I clipped the footboard of the bed just right, resulting in an enormous bruise on my thigh, smack in the middle between my knee and hip. It was the kind of bruise that surfaced immediately and, if I am being honest, brought tears to my eyes. Over the past few days, as its colors have morphed from black to blue to yellow to green I have noticed that there appears, if you look just right, to be the outline of a person. Do you see it?
I am aware that what I am about to say sounds like proof positive that I have officially become unhinged, but… I am actually deriving a peculiar sense of comfort from the bruise. I have not named it (although the temptation is strong) but my connection to it makes me feel as though I should. Absentmindedly touching it and with the almost tender ache one has with a bruise, I feel, as the size, shape and colors change, that I am almost caressing the pain away for those I know who are in, well, shitty states of mind.
There is an odd connection between pain and pleasure, and as I touch it and mentally document the daily changes, however small, I somehow feel better. Perhaps it is the shared pain…albeit in a different flavor from that which some people I love are struggling with. Or maybe my own personal happiness feels somehow unfair and the bruise brings me back to earth. I am not sure, actually.
My bruise should be gone in about two weeks (I know because I Googled it). I hope the bruises my peeps are living with will heal as quickly.