in which i talk about the pain

I believe in being truthful. I believe in being honest. I also usually tell everybody everything or anybody anything. I’m a heart-on-my-sleeve kind of girl.

Right now, I hurt. It’s real pain and it’s lodged in the general area of my ribs. I’ve had this pain since middle school, but then we had no idea what it was. It was undiagnosed pain that would awaken me in the night and would only be relieved by retching. My poor mother, who had to work the next day, would often wake up with me and rub my back until it subsided and I drifted back to sleep. Now, as an adult who loves her sleep, I realize that must have been a pain as well.

It wasn’t until 6 years ago that the cause was found. A Generalized Anxiety Disorder was the diagnosis. I took it with gusto, loved putting words to something as abstract as feelings, unexplained emotions even. Mostly, I deal fairly well with the anxiety. I have the tools now to keep it in check, but every so often I’ll let down my guard, or just become a little sensitive and the pain comes nestling in my ribs like rat burrowing for a home.

There is no more retching these days, just lots of calming self-talk, retro-active thinking to pinpoint the worry spot because I worry. A lot. About anything and everything. Again, I can now put most worries aside, tell my intelligent brain what is rational and what is not (this one is more common). Today though, I know the pain is about deadlines and things undone and things coming round very soon. I don’t know that I’ll sleep well tonight. I don’t know that I can calmly talk down the worries about time. I do know that while I toss and turn and hazily watch TV, I’ll wish I had my mother, half asleep herself, rubbing my back and worrying about me just like I worry about things I cannot control.

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