I’m Woke

Pre-dawn twilight at Bosque del ApacheJohn Fowler – Creative CommonsAttribution 2.0 Generic

There’s something wonderful and annoying about five a.m. when you don’t have to be awake.

And yet you are.

Being awake throughout the night isn’t a choice for many of us and I’m no different. The nights I’m only awake a few times for short periods are awesome. Finding out that the pain I’ve learned to disconnect from was the largest block to move in the way of rest is a paradigm shift.

The problem with connecting to the true source of what ails us is connecting with the true source of what ails us. That’s the whole point of disconnecting, duh.

Pain, whether psychological or physical, is obviously not a good feeling. We disconnect to break from it. It’s a guttural, knee-jerk reaction and saves us in the moment. It’s a sprinter, built for speed. It’s fast and dirty.

Disconnecting serves a purpose, is a healthy choice in relative situations and is a legitimate tool. When it’s our only tool, we’ve got trouble.

Big trouble in little Christals comfort zone.

There are many things I love and sleep ranks up somewhere in the top between a shower and slap-you-in-the-face-strong tea with a good indica for my love. The combination has made pain visible to me by relieving it for me. No longer this amorphous, shape shifting thing; pain has form with characteristics and boundaries and I’m not digging it much. In fact, I kinda hate it’s fucking guts because now I’m aware when it’s here.

Being able to realize I’m in pain physically or emotionally and not in some turmoil internally, (again, constant adjusting as I remind myself and get used to my correct identification) had allowed me freedoms I didn’t have before. I know me, I know what’s wrong, can identify it, label it and apply what is in my arsenal to work with it.

Most of the time, anyway. Like how a baby foal knows how to use its legs really well most of the time … Maybe not so much.

That is more apropos than you know.

I’ve always been called clumsy. Anyone who knew me as a child knows I was accident prone. It’s a deficit in visual spacial function. Understanding my body or other bodies in relation in space is fluid and not nailed down for me. Learning this was a small-big deal. Since it seems to either be progressing or going through a flare, my body is spotted and marked completely by bruises and scratches. I hit things. I fall into things. I blacken my own eyes, for crying out loud. Having lost almost a hundred pounds may have been the jumping off point for this sudden flare. I’m a fat girl in a small girls body. Let me tell you, bones against wood is not sexy or medically beneficial. Frustration is a constant battle. My hands are losing ground with their grip, fine mechanical manipulation and constantly hitting or dropping things.

Being in the community again while being connected and reconnecting is an interesting ride. E. was telling me about Ford Mustangs plowing through crowds and chewing curbs when jumping at the gun on a race. Yes. That’s me. I have Mustang curb option brain.

The beautiful part about being awake?

Dude. You’re awake. The world is quiet with everyone safe in their beds. The stars are going to home, switching shifts soon with the sun. There is food in the fridge, electric and gas. The coffee is hot with real, heavy cream not that sissy bullshit. You’re golden, brothers and sisters. Golden.


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