friedsf (friedsf) wrote,
friedsf
friedsf

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Red White and Blues

It has, in many ways, been a difficult Spring.
Not that anyone outside my life looking in would see any hard or insurmountable difficulties.
A Richard Cory life I may seem to be living. But a dark and difficult Spring nonetheless.

Peering out at the world from inside my skin, I see the hardships and pains suffered by others, and know that most often and by any account, their problems far exceed my own.
I’ve no loved one lost this year, no disturbances of close relationships. I have no cancer or MS. And to the plus side, I have traveled some this year, seeing wondrous things, and before the year ends, will have traveled a great deal more.

And yet, and yet, the worm gnaws from within and all things bright and shining are dimmed and tinged with pain. A blight is upon the light of my soul.
Perhaps I’ve done too much this year, too much traveling, too much stressing.
Or perhaps it was the cold and sinus infection I only now seem to be leaving behind.
All I know is that for the last month or so, my Fibromyalgia has flared up, bringing weakness, fatigue and pain in all things. Depression too has been camping at my door, for depression is the right hand of Fibromyalgia. But even though I know chronic depression to be a chemical imbalance I still find myself wishing all to wistfully for simple oblivion, for the blessing of total surcease. It seems too often these days that the price of continuance is just too high. Extending the effort to do anything worth while seems to wholly tax what will and energies I have. I must constantly fight an uphill battle to keep from falling into the trap of total withdrawal.

Yet the desire to let myself fall inward upon myself is great, to turn away from all things and all efforts. Even small things are forced. Things enjoyed by most people.
A simple shopping trip to the store sometimes seems to take the same effort I think it would be required to hold my hand in an open fire, and part of me feels that this itself would not be so bad, for it is but pain, and perception of pain is relative. Another drop of pain in a bucket full of it would not add so much more weight to have to carry.

And pain sheathes everything. All sound, sight, and touch, fade and dim behind the red haze curtain of it. And under it all, the endlessly growing weariness of trying to maintain the increasing effort needed to keep pushing through that curtain, to just try to maintain the appearances of normality.

All life is a zero sum game. And I am losing interest in playing it.
But I know it is the chemical imbalance speaking, an imbalance that time and treatment may address, but even so, the pull of oblivion is great. So very great.
And all the while the grindstone of life continues to slowly turn.
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