Surrender

Surrender

Nothing I thought might work is working.
This isn’t even working.
The words aren’t coming.
The words that did come don’t matter...

The pain is there no matter if I type or sit or drive or eat or sleep or bathe.
Can’t hold or rock or type or reach
without
the searing.
Tears fill my eyes
out of sadness for what could be
for
what might have been
for
“if only...”

Stopping
is
depressing.

So, I go on and reach and type and rock and hold and then later–
in the hot water where I don’t feel anything but warmth and the pain is muted–
I exhale.

I cry only in the car and when I write at a coffee shop. 
Or
in the middle of the night when everyone sleeps.

I cry at all I give up on.

I can’t even control myself here in this cafe
no one seems to notice
which is good.
I could say, “It’s just allergies.”
I fumble in my bag for tissues, but all I see is the heat wrap I carry for long bouts of writing.

One of the girls behind the counter–
long blond pony tail
runs out from behind the counter and hugs a young man who comes through the door which has a bell.
Tan, straight teeth, short hair.
They hug and sit down.
He chews gum. She leans back and twirls her hair.

***

In the car earlier, Chelsea sang every word of a Taylor Swift song that said something about the day being a fairytale and I
–of course–
cried.
She didn’t notice.

I realized I never dreamed of that  fairytale.
My fairytale was about NYC, agents, and editors...book signings...

But her fairytale, her hopes and dreams of being
a writer, a chef, a teacher, a fashion designer
are still possible
while mine
are
not.

Searing, aching, pinching. 
Stiffness
of the joints.
It’s time to let go. Stop holding on.
This is the irony of life that I always thought was just on paper:
All I thought I would be and do,
I will not.
I will drop my arms, I will stop clutching and pulling and twisting and gripping.

I will surrender.

Pain, chronic

and if i spoke my truth what would it say?
and if I could hear my pain what would it say?
i have worked hard, so hard
harder and harder and harder still–
nothing new about that
except pain
and
loss
of words
expression
pain, more and more, as I type
pinch on the left at the joint of the elbow and forearm
pain–
pinch, burn
ache
deep
gun shot pain
worse than anything
than labour
no end result
no end
I see no end
and I cry
and I cry
I feel myself losing myself
like I did when I had Hyperemesis
the loss of self
the loss of me
who is positive
upbeat
funny
clear headed
multitasker
strong–
I am weak
I hurt
so vulnerable
losing so much of who I have built myself to be
writer
Nope.
can’t type, can’t write, so how am I a writer?
mom
not as much as I want to be
I can hug, I can encourage
but I can’t pick you up.
My focus is weakened by the pain
and I have been tackling it.
wait...
a warmth is in my elbows now not sure if it’s pain can’t tell the difference between–
oh
wait
there it is.
the pinch in the left elbow just as I think– there.
it pinches and pinches

it’s like everything every effort– with getting published with trying to make my business work–every effort is just literally met with a gun shot straight into the heart.

I have to stop because it hurts so much

I’m back
and even though i am losing, i keep trying
when does that character trait become something not commendable?

gun shot pain in both elbows, the right and left hinge
i cry and i cry and i try and try and i do what everyone says and, yet, i am worse and i don’t want to tell my family that because i know they are sick of my pain sick of my pain and so am i
i worry about the future and how how will i write my thesis for next semester and how will i hold my baby and how will i work and make a living what about when i finally surrender and let the pain eat me completely

am i a fighter out of stubbornness, out of defiance, out of rebellion, out of f- you i will show you, out of rejection, out of under dogness?

or am i just stupid and nothing can beat the hope out of me?

i have nothing left and i am running on faking it and i don’t know how much longer that will last

it scares me but i also know there’s nothing i can do about it, it just is

you can’t understand chronic pain until you are in it you can’t articulate it until you are in it and it hurts
the word hurt
look at the “u” part of it
its top is open and vulnerable and that’s where I am so open so unable to stop the pain