So, I sit here, listening to the wind blow the cold front through. It’s going to get chilly tonight. I’m looking forward to that with mixed feelings. On the upside, it was 84 degrees when I left work today… it is not supposed to be that warm this time of year. On the down side, I know that between the change in pressure and the change in temperature, I will probably wake up to some nummy NSAIDs in the morning to take the edge off.
Today, I was listening to someone who doesn’t know describe the look of someone who is in pain. Sometimes there are pain killers that add to the look of not quite there-ness, but often it is just the pain. Sometimes it is just the pain that makes the not quite there be not quite real looking. Right now, I know that in the morning I would love a couple tramadol (which I can’t take because it makes me uber bitchy), or maybe even two or three Tylenol 3 pills (which I don’t have any more of from my hysterectomy). Does that make me a drug addict? Mabye. I know I don’t have them. and I know that I will end up having to tough out tonight and tomorrow morning with Advil (maybe even three of them).
I’ve been thinking tonight about the upcoming trip home. Thinking about the cold. Thinking about the beautiful way that lights sparkle on snow. Thinking about all of the whys that I left home… thinking about all of the things that I wish were different. I’m trying to not dwell. It isn’t working. My mom thinks I need to write the great American novel. It won’t be this NaNoWriMo (epic fail again) but I can feel it coming.
I’ve been thinking about the explanation of what causes people to find so many ways to dump on themselves. I realized I hit on it pretty well, and I don’t think I ever quite thought about it this way before…
— The words that people use cut like a knife sometimes. Those words don’t leave a mark, but they do work their way into you… into your heart… into your head… into your soul… a lot like a fishhook. You know the ones… the ones that have barbs on them so they don’t slide out backwards… maybe even a treble hook like that (three in different directions, just to make sure). Those words lay there, invisible, below the surface… festering like a splinter. You know that you have to get those splinters out… because they will fester more, beal, rot away where they are in your heart, mind, soul. How you cope with getting rid of those pieces of memories that eat away at your insides is unique to you. If you don’t understand completely, you can’t understand completely. Be grateful that you can’t. If you can. Words don’t really matter, you know and you recognize the matter whether you are aware of the recognition or not.
It doesn’t really matter if the meaning behind the words are what we understand them to be or not, the fact that those words are wedged in our being is really all that matters. We pick at the memories, at the words, at the pain that isn’t really there but is more there than anything else, like an infected scab.
Eventually we can more and more leave the memories alone, if we are allowed to. If the words keep begin reinforced, the pain won’t heal, and the wounds can’t be pushed into the distant memories the way they should be allowed to be.
Why do people self harm?
Why would people not self harm?
You beat “them” to it.
The last week or so I’ve been thinking about why people hurt other people… deliberate or inadvertently, and how that hurt can stay with them for a lifetime. Comments can be thoughtlessly made, but their impact can last forever.
I heard recently that blackberries are a lot like people, some are sweeter than others. Too bad you can’t dump sugar on the nasty people the way you can on the nasty blackberries… What the not so sweet ones don’t realize is that it isn’t just the bitter, but the thorns that leave a lasting impression.
Be cognizant of your words. The impression they leave on those on the receiving end may last far longer than you intend. Leave a sweet taste in the minds of those you meet.
If you are on the receiving end of some bitter and thorn (fishhook) infested words, realize that you are not the ooze that is dripped on you. Believe me, I know that is easier said than done, but try to remember the good words, the good feelings, the dancing beneath the full moon to ‘Fly Me to the Moon’, the feel of the warm spring breeze blowing through your hair through to your heart to heal the wounds.