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© 2018 by Christina M. Wilmes, Peace in Artworks. Proudly created with Wix.com

Am I Ok?

September 2, 2017

Am I ok? Sure, yea, I'm ok. But what I'm saying in my head behind that fake smile which has fooled even you, there are days I just want to look at you and say, LOOK. I AM NOT OK. I constantly hurt. My body aches. My head is so fucking heavy I can't hold it which is why it's is resting on my hand half the day as I one hand type. If I could telepathically type I'd be way more efficient, even more than I was before my trigger. A trigger which has brought me nothing but a year of pain and a lifetime of painful memories rushing my mind. Headaches. That's nothing. I have migraines, CONSTANTLY. OH YEAH, the ocular ones, their awesome. Man, who needs PCP, or what is it today, meth? Shit, have you an ocular migraine. You'll not only literally be tripping, girl you be having some wild as vision effects going on. I just don't recommend driving or looking down from the 14th floor of your building. But yes, I'm ok.

 

From my head we move south, see pain travels that direction, down. My right arm is a habitual tingle, you know like you're fingers feel asleep because you laid on your hand too long. Feels like little centipedes going up and down my arm. See those scars, yeah. Pretty aren't they. That's me trying to get the tingle to go away. If I scratch hard enough to bleed, it will all come out. It's only my right arm. But you go ahead and judge me for scratching an itch to hard. You and I both know you are, it's ok. I don't expect you to understand my OK. But being I'm right handed and all I guess my left hand felt lonely and useless, as if she needed a job all to her own. She doesn't get to color with all those pretty colorfμul pens I write you. She scratches and scratches until I see pink, feel a burn, maybe a flinch and look at her, remember shes apart of me, the part that carries and gorgeous ring on the ring finger.

 

Shit. Where's my ring? I lost my ring. Where did I leave that damn thing? Wait. I forgot to wear it. Right? Think. Yes, it's in the dish on my countertop. I'd call someone but no one ever answers the phone. I'd be an interruption to their sleep. Did you ask if I was ok?

 

I need sleep. Lots of sleep. Three different alarms and I still have to force a roll out of bed. Yes. I roll myself into the floor and sit there as if I'm going to crawl to the bathroom like a 9 month old. The rolling over, you see rolls over the tummy, The pain in my lower abdomen is worse than giving birth, Naturally. Daily pains. Fleet, heard of it. Yeah me and fleet are to familiar. But yeah, I'm ok.

 

At least I'm now up and Asana Rebel Yoga and I can get my Warrior 2 pose on. Stretch the back to make the core strong. See God made me so special I only have 4 vertebrate and to top it off they are all triangles. You look perplexed. Oh you didn't know a vertebrae is to be like a square with tissues of discs and nerves around and in between. Agony. But not near as the Agony in the Garden. Nothing could ever compare to what Jesus did to save me. I'll sit on ice for the rest of my life, it's all good. See, I am ok.

Time for work, get out the door by 6:15 to beat the traffic. Work by 7, no worries. Catch up on pending emails and make sure loans are all logged correctly before the office wakes up. Have I told you I hate my car. I hate driving. I can't stand you being so close. Back the fuck off. The speed limit is 65, we just passed it. And if you don't like it move over. I'm in the 3rd lane for a reason. To drive the speed limit, or slower. White knuckles, heart is racing. Someone text me. Don't they know I'm driving. Phones in my purse. If emergency they can call me. Bluetooth baby. So you get off your phone man in the blue escape that just about side swiped me. Yes that was me blaring my horn and screaming at you. I'm sure you read my lips. FU Asshole is pretty easy to read. God please make me get to work safe without killing me or someone else. Hands hurt they grip so tight. Right knee can feel the stress. I just want to let go of the petal and stop. How was your drive in, there was no traffic today? Right? Pretty quiet morning. I'm ok.

Lunch time. Four and half hours to go. Dizzy. Maybe you should eat a yogurt. Help your stomach. Activa, come on you know you sang it too. It's good but it doesn't help things move like their supposed too. So I'll just pretend to eat, now my actual stomach does hurt. No one around? They are not looking... time to take that short walk to.... well I'll keep ya pondering where I may have gone. But hey, I am ok.

 

God help me help you help us both. Who am I talking too? I needed help. I knew I did. I still do 14 months later. I've reached out and you know the damaging truth of it all, I picked 10. Of those 10, 8 have supported, truly supported. 3 almost daily. 3 about every 2-3 weeks and the other two about once a month. Social media is so wrong. Everyone's liked, everyone's so perfect and if you're not, you're trying to find a way to be. Or theirs the opposite. Complete and utter bullying. It's done in a meticulous and manipulative way.

 

Have ya heard, I'm ok.

 

It sucks. Lying sucks. Opening up sucks. Posting awareness, that really sucks. Some get it. Some pray for you but the ones you wish would reach out because you don't know how to reach out to them, ignore you. Tell me how you really feel. Wait that's right. You can pick your friends. You can pick your nose, you can pick the flowers where they grow, but the ones you can't pick... family. Ohana means no gets left behind. I guess they haven't seen LILO and Stitch.

I am ok

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