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juushikaI've been feeling almost invisible, lately. The problem with discovering the journals of interesting, attractive (and I mean that in primarily in the sense of "charming personality"), active people and reading about their daily lives is that it casts clear contrasts upon oneself and ones own life. I may be many things, but I'm definitely not socially active, and sometimes I wish I were. I wish that I had people to interact with—people with like interests, studying similar subjects, so that we could exchange ideas and combine our efforts. As I continue on with more CR study, I also wish I could work side by side with someone to put the book knowledge into living practice.
As it is, I have none of that. What relationships I do have are primarily online—which has its benefits, but on the whole means that they are distant or else inconsistent, and it's definitely not the same as a real-time conversation. But there are so many roadblocks to finding or building offline relationships. My anxiety and agoraphobia keep me in so much that when I want to go out (which has been pretty often lately, but that's unusual for me), I have no where to go, no one to see. I go to the library, or to Starbucks, or usually I go out on long-offroad walks. I enjoy these places and journeys, but they're not conducive to meeting anyone—especially since I am very nervous around new people and am awful at small talk. Historically, I'm not good at keeping the offline friends that I do manage to make—I am very introverted, I rarely reach out because I'm afraid to impose upon others, and so I tend to avoid my friends and, as a sin of omission, push them away.
With such desire to sit down and talk about Celtic myths with someone that has read them too, with the feeling that what I do on LJ falls, stone-like, to echo distant in the void—I guess what I've been saying is that I'm lonely, lately. Introversion and agoraphobia distance me from people, which is half of the idea after all, but it has driven me so far distant that there are no people, now. I see my parents every week or two. I see Devon (and often his brother) every day, and I really enjoy their company—but neither of them wants to discuss a recently read book or a Celtic religious practice. I wish I could meet one or two new folks, local, that I could have low-stress, non-imposing coffee and conversation with, but I want to skip to the end: the established, intimate, thoughtful friendship that fosters discussion and knowledge, without nervous attempts at small talk and empty awkward silences. But as it is, I don't know how to get there. I don't even know how to introduce myself to someone new.
In other news, the increased back pain continues. It's been at this new, constant midgrade-to-high level steadily for the last two or three weeks, which seems to indicate a trend. Dev and I have taken to treating it nightly with my (super amazing) hotpad and his (super intense) back massager, as well as realignment (he pops my back almost every day), which helps. But it has me worried ...
I've been dealing with back pain for six years, now. It was very bad when it first started—back in England, and then continuing on when I came back to the US and started physical therapy. I ended physical therapy when they told me there was nothing that they could do, and that the back pain would continue throughout my life. As it did indeed continue, I became adjusted to the pain, and I began to lose feeling in my lower back as the nerve endings numbed and died. For the last few years, it's been a constant but forgettable problem, spiking (irregularly at first, and later generally once a month, when I menstruate) with higher pain and sometimes cramping. But now, for the last two months on and off, and for the last two weeks without end, the pain has been as bad as it used to be during the infrequent periods of spiking pain: very tense muscles, particularly in the lower back, difficulty maintaining any position for an extended period of time, stiffness and pain upon waking, generalized pain throughout, constant throbbing pain in the lower back, spikes of sharp pain in the lower back.
There's a sort of irrational anger when someone tells you that there's no treatment, that the pain will continue, and that it will get worse as you age. I still hold a grudge against the physical therapists I had, those six years ago. But when it does this—when it gets worse—there's no one else for me to push the blame off on to. I can't get mad at a physical therapist, at a doctor, at anyone else. All I can get mad at is me, my body, myself. I can correct my posture, I can take breaks, I can hold myself different, sit different, stand different, I can think about it all the time, I can beg backrubs, I can use my hotpad, I can whine, I can break down and cry, but at best all I can do is elevate the pain—and sometimes that just makes it even worse the next day.
It stings (and aches, and spasms...), this feeling of being betrayed by my own body. It is frustrating, and it is hopeless, and it is something that I cannot—ever—change.
Other personal update notes: Despite getting out more often, despite wonderful (and very long) walks, depression continues. Anxiety somewhat alleviated. Just got sick again (about five days ago, finishing up recovery now). The lesson here is: depression and being mostly housebound will lower your resistances, kids. Reading a bit, not writing much. So it goes.
Boy is here. Girl is going.
As it is, I have none of that. What relationships I do have are primarily online—which has its benefits, but on the whole means that they are distant or else inconsistent, and it's definitely not the same as a real-time conversation. But there are so many roadblocks to finding or building offline relationships. My anxiety and agoraphobia keep me in so much that when I want to go out (which has been pretty often lately, but that's unusual for me), I have no where to go, no one to see. I go to the library, or to Starbucks, or usually I go out on long-offroad walks. I enjoy these places and journeys, but they're not conducive to meeting anyone—especially since I am very nervous around new people and am awful at small talk. Historically, I'm not good at keeping the offline friends that I do manage to make—I am very introverted, I rarely reach out because I'm afraid to impose upon others, and so I tend to avoid my friends and, as a sin of omission, push them away.
With such desire to sit down and talk about Celtic myths with someone that has read them too, with the feeling that what I do on LJ falls, stone-like, to echo distant in the void—I guess what I've been saying is that I'm lonely, lately. Introversion and agoraphobia distance me from people, which is half of the idea after all, but it has driven me so far distant that there are no people, now. I see my parents every week or two. I see Devon (and often his brother) every day, and I really enjoy their company—but neither of them wants to discuss a recently read book or a Celtic religious practice. I wish I could meet one or two new folks, local, that I could have low-stress, non-imposing coffee and conversation with, but I want to skip to the end: the established, intimate, thoughtful friendship that fosters discussion and knowledge, without nervous attempts at small talk and empty awkward silences. But as it is, I don't know how to get there. I don't even know how to introduce myself to someone new.
In other news, the increased back pain continues. It's been at this new, constant midgrade-to-high level steadily for the last two or three weeks, which seems to indicate a trend. Dev and I have taken to treating it nightly with my (super amazing) hotpad and his (super intense) back massager, as well as realignment (he pops my back almost every day), which helps. But it has me worried ...
I've been dealing with back pain for six years, now. It was very bad when it first started—back in England, and then continuing on when I came back to the US and started physical therapy. I ended physical therapy when they told me there was nothing that they could do, and that the back pain would continue throughout my life. As it did indeed continue, I became adjusted to the pain, and I began to lose feeling in my lower back as the nerve endings numbed and died. For the last few years, it's been a constant but forgettable problem, spiking (irregularly at first, and later generally once a month, when I menstruate) with higher pain and sometimes cramping. But now, for the last two months on and off, and for the last two weeks without end, the pain has been as bad as it used to be during the infrequent periods of spiking pain: very tense muscles, particularly in the lower back, difficulty maintaining any position for an extended period of time, stiffness and pain upon waking, generalized pain throughout, constant throbbing pain in the lower back, spikes of sharp pain in the lower back.
There's a sort of irrational anger when someone tells you that there's no treatment, that the pain will continue, and that it will get worse as you age. I still hold a grudge against the physical therapists I had, those six years ago. But when it does this—when it gets worse—there's no one else for me to push the blame off on to. I can't get mad at a physical therapist, at a doctor, at anyone else. All I can get mad at is me, my body, myself. I can correct my posture, I can take breaks, I can hold myself different, sit different, stand different, I can think about it all the time, I can beg backrubs, I can use my hotpad, I can whine, I can break down and cry, but at best all I can do is elevate the pain—and sometimes that just makes it even worse the next day.
It stings (and aches, and spasms...), this feeling of being betrayed by my own body. It is frustrating, and it is hopeless, and it is something that I cannot—ever—change.
Other personal update notes: Despite getting out more often, despite wonderful (and very long) walks, depression continues. Anxiety somewhat alleviated. Just got sick again (about five days ago, finishing up recovery now). The lesson here is: depression and being mostly housebound will lower your resistances, kids. Reading a bit, not writing much. So it goes.
Boy is here. Girl is going.
