BYOB 080120 Internal Pain

By Lezlie Christian — BYOB 2020

August 1, 2020 Internal Pain

Today was a bad day. Sometimes it seems like there is nothing you can do to pull yourself out of your self-loathing funk; even if there were, you feel so worthless you cannot muster strength or health to do your tai qi. Instead you fritter away the hours chasing down wispy trails looking for what, only the gods know. I feel like Jodie Foster in Silence of the Lambs, as she is in the dark, trying to find her way, and the predator has on night goggles, watching her the whole time.

Internal Dialogue:

Me: I feel completely hollow. Lost.

Other Me: Don’t focus on your pain. Therapist taught you how to refocus yourself.

Me: But I hurt, and it does not stop. Nothing stops the pain.

Other Me: No, nothing but time can dull the pain, but it will never go away.

Me: Grieving for my father was harder because I did not allow myself to for

years. I had a little brother, nearly 10 years younger, whom I needed to

keep an eye on.

Other Me: You finally gave your Mother her power back, only took 35 years.

Me: Setting boundaries with your parents is harder than with anyone else. I

loved Mom, but at times I hated her. There were traces of her father’s

vindictive nature in her until the end: She was obsessed with who was

going to wind up with her belongings. Mom wanted all her stuff with

her until the end.

Other Me: You have stuff, too! Do not go throwing stones, you know, when you

live in a glass house. We have one month to clean out everything, all

our belongings, and the belongings that have belonged to family

members who have passed. I am, unbelievably, the Matriarch of the

Clan now.

Me: I would like to walk away, just leave the keys in the mailbox, and leave

everything. The small chipped teapot your great-aunt Jewel gave you

holds paraphernalia. It can never be disposed of. The gourd rattle that a

friend of mine, name of LaDonna BlueEye, gave me when we played

amateur taiko together. All my shells and feathers, and seeds and

gourds. My precious books. I would lose everything.

Other Me: Why do you stay?

Me: I must sell as much of it as I can because my husband and I are moving

into a new phase in life, it’s called poverty. It comes along with being

just old enough to not be able to get life insurance, or to cut the

fucking limb down yourself. The ride to the ER was apparently a barrel

of laughs: It is reported that I told the EMSA folks that I had been

attacked by ninja monkeys. Keith verifies this information. That was the

first concussion.

Other Me: You always have thought yourself special. You had to have two

concussions, constantly trying to show off.

Me: My Papaw said I would be Miss America someday. He said it so

many times, I began to believe him. I just wondered when officials

would contact me to get me set up for the contest. Seriously.

Other Me: But you knew you were different, perverted according to the preacher

in the pulpit. You suffered a great deal of guilt because of the desires

that had begun to come to you at times.

Me: The Zinnias have really filled out on the north side of the bed, and they

are covered with buds. I cannot wait for the Sabdarifa Hibiscus to

bloom! The blooms aren’t showy, but the calyxes that form around

them to protect them are amazing if harvested after the flower blows,

then dry them. Excellent tea, and you can dye cotton fabric with it!

What? I was curious.

Other Me: Why are you avoiding the subject?

Me: Because I have moved beyond what bigoted asshats spew from the

pulpit. They are haters, literally the perfect example of the word

hateful. I am more interested in trying to recover as

much of myself as I can. I have lost so much -