Updates, Patchkits, Life, and Other Soul-baring Ramblings

Therapy today: good and bad. The therapist thinks the FYG is overdoing it with her therapy work at home (nor surprise)  and the surgeon dismissed her too soon (no duh).  It’s almost 3 months later, and the FYG’s leg is still swollen, gets sore too much, the leg is still inflamed and she is not sure we will see the FYG ever fully able to straighten the crookedness issue.  Her broken leg is almost always a darker color than the non-broken leg, and she still has obvious bruising.

We need to see our regular doctor in order to get a scrip to see another orthopedic surgeon for another scrip for more therapy. All of which I agree with and have wondered about myself. But…. yeah.  It hurts.

The Cherub still has a runny nose.  She’s off of antibiotics, and we go back for another xray in about half a week.

Etc.

Me? I’m about as crazy and neurotic as I have been for a long time now, I think a tiny bit better, not much worse.

Remember those inflatable Bozo the clowns with weighted bottoms? You punched them and they bounced back up, until, over time, they sort of got deflated and they didn’t bounce back up any more, they grew more and more wobbly and saggy, and then they just quit bouncing back and just laid there on the ground, a colorful but empty pile of airless plastic?

That was me about 7 years ago.  I worked on patching the holes, but then there was what is known by those who name these things as a trigger, and the air just whoofed right out.

I still work on patching,  but life keeps punching holes in my airbag.  Every one of these events is another hole.  Some of them are pinholes, some are slashes.  Sometimes I feel like I finally have the thing all patched up and am just about ready to refill it with air when someone or something comes right along and jabs another gaping hole, and ooof, down we go again.

We all have our own patch kits. There are some things that work for every person’s patch kit, and other things that are quirky enough to only be effective for that particular person. A few years back after a major trauma,  I was in contact with a Christian therapist, and I expressed some concern about the time I spent reading books.  The therapist pointed out that the trauma I’d been through was pretty major and it wasn’t like there was ever going to be an end to it exactly,  and that other people going through similar things take drugs, legal or otherwise, turn to drink, check in to mental institutions,   or worse.  There were plenty of ways to deal with a crisis and spending all day reading through one book after another was not only not the worst way, in that therapist’s opinion, it was one of the best for me at that time.

Some people clean things when traumatically stressed, some eat chocolate, some run, some cook, some read, some curl up in the fetal position with the covers over their heads- some read books.  Some add more whiskey to their coffee, some add a drop of coffee to their whiskey, some seek therapy, some seek prescriptions, some turn to God, some turn to astrology, some turn to bar hopping or sexual partner hopping, some become vegetarian or paleo (the point being not the diet, but a radical change of diet), some pack up their bags and move,  some make jokes, some commit suicide.

Etc.

One of those things is obviously much better and more effective over the long run than others, some are obviously seriously wrong, but most of them are neutral and it is largely up to the person involved to discover what works best for them in their own patchkit and on their own time scale. Nobody gets to decide for somebody else that they have had more than enough time to deal and it’s time to move on.

My patch kit is a pretty odd assortment of stuff.  It includes, merely in alphabetical order here:

Bible reading

blogging

crocheting a single washcloth, and then undoing it and crocheting it again, and then undoing it and crocheting it again, and then…. in this way I have made my favorite ball of thread (which I cannot find again) last five years.

folk music

Foreign language practice

Hearing from friends who are more interested in understanding and less interested in imagining themselves prophets and judges.

K-dramas

K-pop music

Listening to my kids laugh

other foreign dramas (have to be subtitled, watching a show in English in no way works as part of my patch kit)

Poetry

Prayer

reading

reading

reading

snuggling grandbabies

Social networking and other internet stuff

talking and/or blogging about stuff that has absolutely nothing to do with why I need a patch kit

Etc.

tired-housewife-sweeping-floor-vintageThere are a lot of things I regret, like almost anybody who gets to fifty or more.

But one of them?

I really

really

really

really

regret

that housecleaning and exercise don’t work so well for me

as part of the patch kit.

 

P.S. A different sort of airbag:  I meant to include this K-Pop song earlier- it’s called “I Need an Airbag,” by Tablo of Epik High, and it comes from a very dark time in his life. I found it soothing and helpful at a dark time in my life. I still enjoy it, but it’s not longer precisely where I am:

Lyrics:

Lyrics:
Translated by Eduipe

I need an airbag.
Before I crash into the encroaching, massive sorrow.

For the nights that I don’t want to be home, taxi driver swerves around the shortcuts.
On radio, the verbose DJ’s on with easy-laugh guests and won’t play music, their conversations drag out.
If it was any other day, I would have asked the driver to change the frequency, well, I don’t have a song I want to listen to anyways.
I mute my thoughts so they can jabber on.
Laughter explodes, trails words that I don’t understand, but seeing as how the rigid taxi driver is chuckling along, it must be trending.
Perhaps I was an island all by myself.
Finally, someone’s request is playing.
It’s a very sad song, one that I once used to really like.
Would he be also by himself,
At a place where a long day sojourns, sleeps for a while?

I need an airbag.
Before I crash into the encroaching, massive sorrow.
I need an airbag.
It’s too late to steer away.

Nowadays, there are tons of things to tidy up, and I don’t get drunk easily either. But then again, it’s not like I avoid going for drinks.
Is it because I don’t want to be alone?
Or is it because I want to be visibly alone?
Loneliness is only natural for me.
Even if there is someone by me, would there be enough of me to share?
It’s a question mark that I don’t want to hang on.
But thankfully that’s when a loud voice on the phone latches onto my ears. Sounds like the planned get-together got cancelled.
As the taxi driver grumble away off phone, my eyes wander to the family photo tacked on to the taximeter, crooked.
Is it because I’m without home or path to walk down on, that I wander?
Or is it because I don’t have anyone waiting for me, even though I’ve got plenty of places to be

I need an airbag.
Before I crash into the encroaching, massive sorrow.

I need an airbag.
It’s too late to steer away.
I guess I’m all alone again.
I guess I’m all alone again.
I guess I’m all alone again.

Once again.
I guess I’m all alone again.
I guess I’m all alone again.
I guess I’m all alone again.
Once again.

I’m precarious right now.
I’m dangerous right now.
Don’t hit me.

When did it start, looking out the window
Rain’s already pooled around on the streets, as if it’s been raining for a while.
Then I see the reflection of the electronic board by the side of the road.
Why is it then the tears swell up, at the thought of you, who must be living just fine.
How lonely the number 1 looked tacked on next to the word ‘death’
I need an airbag.
Before I crash into the encroaching, massive sorrow.

I need an airbag.
It’s too late to steer away.
It’s the kind of night when I miss you. My heart, rains and slides.
I need you, yes I need you, my airbag.

I guess I’m all alone again.
I guess I’m all alone again.
I guess I’m all alone again.
Once again.

I guess I’m all alone again.
I guess I’m all alone again.
I guess I’m all alone again.
Not again.

If you’re interested in what sent Tablo careening out of orbit into that dark place where he needed an airbag, I blogged about it here.

But be sure to read about his comeback, too, which I blogged about here.

It was fascinating to me that separated by gender, a generation (I am old enough to be his mother), thousands of miles, and cultures which are a world apart and dealing with different sorts of issues altogether,  he was able to still come up with word pictures that completely resonated with me and my feelings about it all.

I need an airbag for life, because I keep crashing into the encroaching, massive sorrow.

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