Tangled up in Blue

As I open my eyes, the wonderful realization that I have slept dawns on my still groggy brain. This peaceful dark unconscious place free of pain is what I had yearned so desperately for. Once I have achieved this state, I am on my road to recovery.

Some 48 hours earlier, my descend into this hell began. I first feel the queasiness of my stomach and tightening of my neck muscles set in. Speak became difficult but I knew I only had a short time to cancel my upcoming appointments and reservations, and remove myself to a dark quite sanctuary once my full blown malady hits. That is near impossible being the mother of kids and tender of animals.

I am caught in an uncomfortable limbo, the phone rings, keeping me from sleep, and I am unable to answer it to hold a conversation, but I screen the calls in case of an emergency. I hear the animals outside. It sounds like they have increased their volume to remind me of their existence. I worry helplessly if they have been fed. My boys try their hardest to take care of themselves, and our household, but the stressful responsibility causes then to fight. Loudly. In between my pathetic bouts of nausea, I worry constantly about them.

Every sound is escalated. I can hear my familys thoughts. I am able to feel every step made in my house. Sunlight burns my eyes all the way to my brain. My throught hurts from retching. I lay broken in bed like a rag doll, desperate for the sleep that so eludes me.

I know the inventor of the Guillotin must of experienced what I am feeling. I am not entirely positive I would be able to decapitate myself or not, for murdering myself I might remain in this Dante's inferno forever. But I would welcome death.

During this time. I am unable to eat or drink any thing, If I am foolish enough to try, I projectile vomit. The beeping of my watch alarm signals it's time to take my anti-rejection pills. It is an immense effort to drag myself to my bathroom were I dry swallow them and say a prayer they will stay down.

I do not know what causes these times. To much anxiety and excitement and the lack of sleep can trigger then. Work and stress are also culprits to their onset. In a nutshell, a normal life. I try my best not to overdo it and pace my activities. In my world though, life's happenings don't ever take a number.

Now while I am on the mend, I nap sporadically trying to catch up on the sleep I've missed being ill. I am grateful the worse is over but now the depression sets in. Useless, unreliable, and worthless is how I am feeling now. I am hopeless in my despair. My dehydrated body causes the connection's in my brain to miss fire, my thoughts are fuddled. I tremble and shake like a drug starved addict when I try to simply drink water.

I know I am coming back from the edge when my personal hygiene concerns me. As my strength returns so does my desire to bathe. I run the bathwater, but avoid the mirror above my counter at all costs. The sight of my emaciated body, with bones projecting were curves should be dishearten me. It hurts to lay on my side as my leg bones cut into each other.

Slowly I am able to face my family once I find the proper fitting clothes to hid the lack of flesh on my body. It is an unneeded visual reminder that I am not robust. I find clean jammies and open my bedroom room back to the outside world. Instantly I am bombarded with the pleas for attention, the praise and love that my boys have missed. My house is a pit and it angers me greatly. Three days out of the game and I have a weeks work to catch up on.

Friends marvel at my ability to bounce back. As if I had a choice. If I were to sit idle or in a funk on my good days there would be no joy in Munkayville. My time is too short and too long to dwell on the imperfect. Grab on to the good stuff when you can. Life is a beautiful buffet. You get one plate and one trip through. And there's no room on my plate for any blue jello.