I had a great day. My husband and a friend of ours planted flowers in baskets and containers. We accomplished quite a bit - all the baskets and containers looked stunning. The highlight was the garden hose blowing a leak, spraying my friend and the dog. Neither were very impressed. I was on a high, feeling good, so I continued with the gardening, pulling out weeds here and there. All the while, I knew I was pushing my limits, likely to bring on the pain later. Why do we do it? Why do 'fibromites' strive to do so much - too much - when we have a freak occurence of good health? We know it will likely bring on a flare yet we continue to thrash around like a fish on a hook. My guess is that we feel whole so rarely, our bursts of energy come so infrequently that we convince ourselves that we must make this aberration count for something. The kid in the candy store syndrome - we rush around, trying to fit in a week's worth of chores and errands into a mere twenty-four hours. That does not compute, folks.
I'm glad I had a good, productive day because it sure as hell brought on the pain this evening. As I write, my skin is so sensitive, it feels like post-burn pain. The slightest touch irritates and I'm not referring to my skin, exclusively.
I've been down as far as a person can go - many times. I know what it's like to lose yourself in grief and tears. But, I've chosen not to let the darkness get the best of me. This awareness, this decision has taken a very long time in manifesting itself. I crack jokes because it hurts too much to go back to that painful place. Finding the humour has become my automatic default over the years. Blackness is on the horizon, I can plainly see it, but I keep it out of focus with humour. It's my way of thumbing my nose at the 'abyss.' As such, I tend to write with a certain degree of disconnect.
A friend told me tonight that the late comedian, Red Skelton, said he became a comedian ... "because he was always one laugh away from crying." Well said, Red, well said.