Words, Tears and Growing Old

 

Words and I have a love affair. I see pictures in words. I can see poetry in prose and truth in poetry. Searching for just the right way to say something is a challenge...one at which I often fail. But I try to be good at using this lovely language.

Some call me loquacious, some call me glib and some call me melodramatic. The harder I try to explain, using the words and phrases that come to me, the worse I seem to make it, sometimes. There comes a time when I have to sit on the words and be silent. That's hard to do because they are my outlet, my therapy, my art and my friends. They have saved me from myself many times when I see the specter of self-pity, self-involvement and denial creep in. They have lifted me up when I have been able to use them to admit to responsibility, acquire humility and to reinforce the futility of sweating the small shit. Oh, and I love the so-called "bad words" too. My daughter has gone through a hard time and one of the reasons is the machinations of a woman who seems to want to hurt so she called her a "cunt." Hey, daughter! Good, therapeutic use of bad word there!

So, here it is, for me. In the past six weeks I have gone through something that has almost defeated me, physically and emotionally. It has been hard to be sensible and pragmatic with my words when what has been roiling around inside me would best describe Dante's lower levels of Hell. While I am going through this, I just can't be my old, sweet self. I am in a battle and I have to keep fighting. I want to be well.

This brings me to the "tears" part. I am told, by my doctors, that the emotional responses are partially the physical trauma, which was major, and partially the drugs used to control the pain, reduce the chances of an embolism, and help me heal. All I know is that I have cried more, and I mean actual sobbing, in the past few weeks than I have in years. My tear ducts ache from all the crying. I want to cry, right now, just seeing the words I am typing. Again, this seems to be something that is beyond my control. The fewer pain meds I have to take, the better I seem to be, but the pain and the inconvenience still have a bit to do with it, I am thinking. It is so frustrating to be unable to bend over and pick something up you have dropped and those grabber things can be a pain to operate. So, I cry.

That has been harder due to the fact that there have also been personal, family problems going on and I received anonymous hate mail . I don't know if that makes me sad or glad. So, if I come off as dramatic, overwrought or even self-pitying, please excuse and understand. It's not something I did on purpose and it is something I did not, for a moment, expect would happen. I'm doing my best, kids. And the purple prose is just me...always has been. I wish I had done a bit better at teaching you empathy because, if I ever needed it, it need it now.

 

A friend posted a picture of this Physostegia virginiana, this morning, and called it the "Robin Flower" because it bends but doesn't break. Oh boy do I hope I live up to that one! OK..Off to walk and heal this fuken hip!