the shore of my sadness

My head hurts. It gets worse every day. Relief is coming in the form of a new night guard (a retainer that keeps my teeth from breaking when I clench them in my sleep) on Tuesday, I hope. I find myself trying to survive in the meantime . . . Which I hate, by the way. I feel like all it takes to bring me to my knees crying, "uncle", is just the tiniest (or as my cousin Misty used to say, "tinniest") amount of pain. The sheer wimpiness makes me afraid to even get pregnant again. "If you can't take a little headache--what makes you think you can do nine months of *that* again?" Wimpy, wimpy, wimpy! Hefty, hefty, hefty!

And I'm so astounded by how any injury can open the floodgates of rampant selfishness in me. It's something like, "Yes, I know you existed two hours ago, but now all that exists in this entire universe is me and my injury and everything and everyone else might as well be the wallpaper in the room of my suffering." (And did I mention that I only think in run-on sentences when I'm not well, as though my thoughts can't even be bothered with punctuation?) I'm embarrassed about who I've been being the last few days. (Whiny, childish, a victim and completely self-absorbed). That's not who I really am--and it's that fact, not the pain, that depresses me so.

Plus, I've been reading a sad book (thanks to Phyllis who rescued me this week with a lovely care package of books), "The Secret Life of Bees" by Sue Monk Kidd, and it's been presencing me to my own sadness. I'm surprised at how deep and vast it is, and how I carry it around all the time while trying not to notice. It's like a deep lake, and I'm afraid that if I even stick in as much as my toe, I'll get pulled in completely until I drown. It feels safer to turn my back to it, to turn my gaze to more pleasant scenery. After awhile, I can even forget that it is there.

But this time, I'm actually wondering if turning my back is the only option here. The inauthenticity of it bothers me now, so I've spent the past few days just sitting on the shore of my sadness, contemplating my next move. And whining to everyone in sight about my head. Thank you to everyone for your encouraging words.