I feel like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.
My skin feels tender, as if I’ve somehow grazed the entirety of it on something rough; I have not. My chest hurts, it’s a little tight, and my inhalers (the blue and the brown) seem to do nothing to relieve it. My head has been throbbing for the last 2 days, in spite of copious medications (paracetamol, ibuprofen, caffeine) to ease it. I also feel a bit cold, especially in my extremities; I’ve been saying I have poor circulation for years, and the other day, a doctor friend tested it and actually said, “You know, that *is* pretty sluggish,” SO THERE (suck on that, everyone who calls me a hypochondriac; nevermind that “sluggish circulation” isn’t a diagnosis of anything, and I don’t have any worrying symptoms, and nothing will come of having sluggish circulation other than I’ll need to wear socks and gloves occasionally when other people don’t, I was right, I get cold fast, and my being right is what counts!).
Sorry, I digressed, there. Returning to my story:
So, I feel the way people look when other people tell them, “You look like you’ve been dragged (or “drug” in my native patois) through a hedge backwards”.
Why do I feel this way, you may ask? I have an answer:
In my native patois, that’s short for, “None of your business.”
That being said, if I didn’t want to talk about it (so to speak) I wouldn’t be, so let me give you the situation in broad brush strokes, without revealing too much (but hopefully enough).
I’ve been fighting (definitely for the last 2 days, but off and on over the last couple of months) with a close loved one. Well, more than one, really; but one in particular, most of the time/most vehemently. The range of things we fight about is vast, and yet, so easily boiled down to one specific issue… and that, friends and readers, is the bit that’s not going up. Not today, not ever. Sorry to disappoint.
But can I get a little virtual cuddle anyway, a little bit of recognition that fighting with loved ones, for whatever reason, is HARD HARD HARD HARD HARD?
And I’ve been doing it, more or less constantly, since I left home 12 years ago. I’m just tired, now. I want to rest. I want to not have to scrap constantly, for every little thing I believe, or believe in, or seek to do, or try to understand… I just want to take it easy, for a bit.
Which will never happen, of course. The day I stop questioning everything and railing about things that I think are unfair and trying to mould my life to my own specifications, is the day they’ve finally hauled me off to a hospital somewhere and filled me full of anti-psychotics. That day may be in my future, but it’s a long way off… at present, I’m still capable of doing what we’ll call a Robbie; ranting and shouting and breaking things like a demon, saying borderline crazy stuff, and scaring everyone who’s in the house with me (I’m so sorry, sweet babies; I did leave the room almost straight away, last night) right up until the moment that the neighbours/wider family/police are called, and then, I am most humbly apologetic and contained. And since Robbie (my dad) has never gotten himself locked up for such behaviour (well, not in my lifetime, anyway) I reckon my odds are pretty good that I won’t, either.
But God. All the screaming and wailing and arguing and railing and just plain discord… it takes a toll, doesn’t it?