This is a Really Real Chronic Pain post.

Most of the time, pain is just a part of who I am.

This slow current that runs just underneath my skin.

It spikes and sparks in different locations at different times.

But it’s just there.

I take my daily medications and go on with my life.

I try to do things that will help,

and I’m not always great at keeping up a routine.

Some days, the pain becomes unbearable.

The quiet hum beneath the surface becomes a constant roar that takes over everything.

I can’t get comfortable.

Everything just hurts.

Today is one of those days.

My body is screaming.

I use various meditations and coping mechanisms.

I spend time trying to just sit with it,

ride it out,

bringing my focus back to my breath or the project at hand every time I start to focus on the discomfort..

I take medications of varying types.

My narcotic that is only used for extreme situations.

I use my medical marijuana/cbd,

normally taken at microdose levels that just take the edge off.

Today I’ve increased the dose to intoxicating levels.

Even the calmness that comes with being high doesn’t keep the pain under the surface.

I use topical creams.

A heating pad.

I distract with various activities.

I constantly shift positions,

laying down,

sitting up,

walking around the house.

Its one of those nights where as much as I want to let it just be,

it feels unbearable.

I want to yell,

“Make it stop.

Please.”

I take an anxiety medication,

maybe if I can just calm my brain a bit.

Everything hurts.

Logically, I know this will pass.

I know this is just a period in time,

I know I’ve been through worse,

and I know, I’ll probably go through worse again.

But, in this moment it feels unfair.

I don’t deserve this.

I sit in the quiet house.

The white noise of fans all around me.

Right now,

this is what is.

And maybe,

writing this,

will make that a little easier to cope with.

This is a Really Real Mental Health post.

Anger is uncomfortable.

I’m not good at it.

I’m good at rage.

So very good.

That feeling that bubbles up and explodes forth from my mouth.

Covering everyone around me.

And then,

it dissipates.

But anger is harder.

That anger when you have been wronged,

betrayed,

hurt.

The anger that needs time to work through.

Anger is uncomfortable.

And sometimes,

things can’t just be fixed.

Sometimes it takes time

Sometimes it takes a lot of processing.

And I never learned how to be okay with being angry.

It’s always been black or white.

I am angry and you will hear about it until it is fixed.

Or,

I am angry and I am done.

Now it’s,

I am angry,

but over time this will be okay.

I just haven’t learned what to do during that time.

How to be angry while still living a loving life.

Anger is just hard for me.

Anger is hard to sit with.

It’s hard to allow myself to be angry.

Anger just kind of sucks.

This is a Really Real Mental Health post.

I started a new form of crafting last week.

A tiny little stamped cross stitch project just to see how I liked it.

After finishing that one, I went to Walmart and got a larger one, as well as a printed embroidery project, because honestly I didn’t notice they were different.

I can see myself doing both of these on a regular basis.

One more calming meditative skill to add into the rotation.

I love that this one is so portable.

I sat on the front porch in the sun the other day working on my current project,

I haven’t been able to do that since my chainmailling days.

I’m sure that particular craft will come back around at some point as well.

There’s still a bin of supplies in the basement.

The house feels foreign and strange.

While Wonder Woman hasn’t been deeply depressed for our entire relationship, there’s always been some level of it there.

And she’s never had energy or motivation.

That’s different now.

Even positive change is stressful.

Right now it’s entirely possible that she’s running a bit too high, medication induced hypomania,

but she’s been so low for so long that it’s honestly hard to tell what her new normal will look like.

She’s working closely with doctors, and it’s a process I understand very well from going through it on my own.

But the change in household energy and dynamic is hard.

I’m used to directing every little thing.

Or at least waiting until the last minute for it to be done.

I’ve always had this quiet anxiety in the back of my head about things that were her responsibility,

but that I could see her putting off till the last minute.

Sometimes they didn’t get done at all.

We spent this first 3 years of our relationship making sure that we didn’t overstep boundaries.

Those boundaries were drawn with red sharpie, keeping my problems and responsibilities separate from hers.

I didn’t realize how much I was emotionally dancing on her side,

while not saying anything.

Now, all of the things are being done.

Household tasks are handled without my input,

or at the very least, without any hesitation.

She’s working through her own paperwork and logistical stuff,

only asking for my input when it is needed.

And it’s strange for me.

In every relationship we have roles that we play,

and often those roles are comfortable, even if they are dysfunctional.

Our roles are changing.

Change is hard, even if it’s good.

We, as individuals,

and also as a couple,

are unfinished projects.

Over time things are going to change and become more clear.

There is no final picture.

We will keep adding to it,

going back and removing stitches that aren’t quite right,

incorporating new colors.

Each time there is anxiety as we wonder what the next version of the picture will look like.

We are not the same people we were during those first conversations on the internet.

That’s a really good thing.

But learning, and relearning each other is a process,

one that will hopefully be repeated many times over the years.

Change is hard and uncomfortable,

even when it’s positive.

Discomfort is part of growing.

It’s just a matter of learning to sit with it.

This is a Really Real Mental Health post.

My brain is full of thoughts running in so many different directions.

But it’s a calm chaos that I’m not used to.

I’m cleaning the house.

Deep cleaning that hasn’t happened since she moved in.

Deep cleaning that has been especially needed for the past year or more.

Staying home around the clock has been horrible for both of us.

It’s all been falling apart for awhile.

Should I have seen how bad things were?

Should I have seen the storm that was brewing?

I knew things were hard,

but I didn’t know how hard.

My life is spent talking openly about my struggles.

I shine light into all of the dark spaces.

I talk about the things that are hard to talk about.

But sometimes, people don’t know how to reach out.

How to put words to the struggle that is brewing within.

“I’m fine, this is fine,” has been a running joke in our house for as long as I can remember.

But it wasn’t a joke.

But, that is her story to tell, if and when she is ready.

My story in this, is that I was caught off guard.

I have craved stability for most of my life.

I keep finding it and losing it again,

crisis after crisis ripping the rug out from underneath me.

It’s hard to talk about that part.

But, supporting someone I love,

understanding how hard this all is,

being there as she finds her feet again,

doesn’t mean my difficulties with the situation aren’t valid.

Many people have supported me through my own struggles,

especially her,

and being on either side is hard.

But I can’t speak to her side of this.

My side is valid too.

I’m saying that to reassure me, not only to remind you.

Sometimes,

it feels like every time I find my own feet,

something pulls the rug.

This time I’m not falling down.

This time I’m creating my own stability in the middle of chaos.

I’m finding ways to control what I can.

Organizing my space, our space, to organize my mind.

Things will be okay on the other side.

Sometimes, you need a wakeup call to realize it isn’t working,

but that’s just an opportunity for change.

An opportunity for growth.

Sometimes, the rug being ripped out,

just shows you that you shouldn’t have the rug there in the first place.