Pain

Pain is a pain in the ass.

I'm usually not a big baby about things, but I don't like to be in pain, physical nor emotional. My emotional pain I often bury under complaints about other things. There really isn't anything I can do about my emotional pain so I do my best to ignore it.

Physical pain on the other hand, not always so hard to ignore. Often impossible to ignore. My right ankle acting up was more than enough to deal with for me physically. Can't visit a doctor for help so I've been getting by with keeping it wrapped and taking an epsom salt bath everyday. That usually allows me to get through a whole night of work.

But I couple of nights ago I hurt my left hand at work. I somehow managed to break a blood vessel in the lower part of my palm while putting away silver carts. It's the first time I've ever had a bruise on my palm before. I have found that like the ankle keeping it wrapped limits how much it hurts, or at least keeps it from throbbing. But I'm waking up with the fingers of my left very stiff and sore which I find perplexing because I didn't hurt them. But a little flexing seems to dissipate that pain quickly.

Pain is a pain in the ass and I hate to be in pain of any kind, but sometimes you just have to deal with it as best you can.

Working on My Worthiness

I went to church yesterday. I haven't been going the past couple of years because our previous ward... Well, we were never going to be accepted there. There's a bubble here in Utah that makes living in this state quite unique. Your church is one place where you should always be accepted, but here renters like myself are often seen as transients and therefore not anyone the church needs to reach out to. Except the opposite is usually true. Renters are often in the most need of support.

Some people may like apartment life, but I'm not one of those people. I hate the lack of privacy, of feeling like I'm suffocating by the other tenants living on top of me. I hate not having my own yard. And I hate not being able to have a dog. My daughter's companion animal, Echo, is just not the same. But dogs do not belong in little apartments where they don't have there own yard to run and play in.

But after my experience with my last ward and the fact that I'm still a renter, I was more than a little reluctant to visit my current ward. I've basically been in this apartment for two years without going to church. Yet I'm very thankful for the missionaries who came to the door a month or so ago. Not anyone could have knocked on that front door and convinced me to visit my own church.

I was overwhelmed the first visit. I only stayed for sacrament. Then I had to get out of there for fear I would say something extremely inappropriate. I didn't go again the next Sunday. But when I did go again it was different. Again I only stayed for sacrament then walked home relieved that meeting felt better than the first. I meant to go the Sunday before last, but my right ankle is giving me trouble. An old injury where I strained it years ago has been acting up and I had to call off work the Friday before that Sunday. I contemplated driving over to the church, but it felt silly to drive a block away.

But yesterday I drove that block over. I stayed through sacrament, went to class after sacrament and even went to Relief Society. Relief Society is usually the one class I have felt the most uncomfortable with. But I wasn't half as uncomfortable as I expected. I actually enjoyed myself. But I miss the two elders that convinced me to come back to church, especially Elder Hernandez. There are still elders there but I guess you could say I don't feel like they're mine.

My daughter didn't go with me. But I've got to let her make her own spiritual journey. I can't take it for her. Plus, I've still got a long way to go with my own journey in this area. I still don't feel worthy to take the sacrament and I don't know how long it will be before I do again.

Starving, But Not For Food

My busy mind woke me up before I was truly rested and ready to get up, a common occurrence for me. And I laid there trying to will myself back to sleep so I'll be properly rested for work tonight. Except my busy mind didn't let me. Instead it went to analyzing me, my life, my current health issues and what can I do to make things better. But before you can make things better you need to know exactly what is causing the issues.

I don't appear to have a virus or cold. Although I am almost constantly stuffy from my daughter's cat. But my chronic diarrhea, chronic fatigue, depression, sadness, exhaustion, lightheadedness and dizziness must be caused by something. I know I'm lonely. The only family I have here is my daughter. And while she loves me unconditionally, she's not a companion. I look after her.

It is a fact that human beings need love. Love is a human need. It's why we seek out companionship. But when infants are not love loved, they fail to thrive and often die. Same with the very elderly, without love their health fails faster and they die.

So what happens to an adult who is starving in this fashion?

I think I'm starving. Not for food, but for love. I think I'm suffering from love deprivation. I've been alone for a long time. Not by choice, but because I have been unable to find a companion to spend my life with. And I've looked and searched, but problems I have no control over get in the way.

I am interracial and I currently live in a state where the predominant religion frowns on interracial relationships. Except I have no choice in this area. Being an interracial person means all my relationships are interracial. And men are less likely to step outside of the box in this area than women. As a woman, I can honestly say I am more likely to follow my heart and be less logical in this area.

But my interracialness isn't the only problem. Our media paints a very narrow view of what is a lovable woman and very little of it is based on intelligence and personality. It pretty much centers on physical attributes, long legs, fair skin, light eyes, skinny, none of which are me. No check mark on any of those for me.

And I certainly can't control what someone else's family finds acceptable. Mother's usually hate me. I am almost never good enough for their baby boy. There's nothing like watching someone you love and you know loves you marry someone else because his family will not accept you because you are part black, or part white or part Native. Then there are his own preconceived notions of what his wife should look like getting in the way. Notions that were shaped by his family, his friends and our beloved media.

He had it in his head that his wife must be a natural blond. It didn't help that his mother wouldn't allow that little nigger girl in the house. He didn't let that stop him from seeing me at first. But your family, especially your mother is a strong influence on you. So eventually he pulled away from me and married a natural blond that his mother approved of. Last time I saw him they had been married for several years and had like four kids, but he was not happy. He looked at his natural blond wife with disgust. He looked at me with anger, as if it was all my fault he was unhappy because I wasn't at least a white girl his mother would accept and for not being that natural blond he had set in his mind as that's what he had to marry.

I understand why some women stay in abusive relationships. Because between the beatings and yelling there are moments where he is loving. And they live for those moments when he is loving. I can't live like that, but some women manage with it even though no one should have to go through that.

So when I look in the mirror I see a woman the woman the world insist is unlovable. Unlovable for reasons that I cannot change and wouldn't change if I could. I am kind and I am caring. I am down to earth and I am not flippant, nor flamboyant. I'm not shallow nor selfish. I am slow to anger and quick to forgive. And what's wrong with being petite and curvy?

But the fact remains that I am alone and suffering from love deprivation. Will it kill me??? Perhaps... There are days when I am just tired of suffering and I am overwhelmed by all the burdens I carry alone and frustrated to be stuck in a world that keeps punishing me for being me.

Just Want to Chill at Home

I called off work last Friday because my right ankle hurt so bad I could barely walk. I could barely get from the daybed to the half-bath and the daybed is only a couple of steps away from the half-bath. I hated to call off. One I hated not being there to do my job. Two I really can't afford to miss a day of work like that.

Now it's Monday and I'll need to go into work tonight ready or not. The ankle is feeling better but it's still hurting. I think I may have re-injured it at work. I hurt on top of just being flat out exhausted. I slept nearly the entire weekend except for getting up long enough to eat, relieve myself and play a little Farmville 2.

I have farmer fantasies where I look outside and can't see my neighbors, breath fresh air instead of car exhaust and factory smog, where my home is my own and I have painted the walls colors I like and don't have to wait for the landlord to feel like fixing something.

But my daughter came up from her room and made breakfast this morning. She has no idea how much I appreciate something like that. I know she hates to do dishes, but it's one less thing for me to stress about when she does. Taking care of those little household chores for me without being asked lifts so much weight from my shoulders. I really hate to have to nag to get her to do something. And I hate it even more when it gets to the point I'm ready to get rid of her cat because that would be one less thing I would have to worry about taking care of.

She's pretty good about looking after Echo herself on some things. She remembers to feed him, she plays with him and has gotten better at keeping him brushed. But sometimes I have to yell about the litter box getting too full. It's in the half-bath which I uses everyday so I look at his litter box everyday. I know immediately when it needs attention. And it irritates me greatly to have to remind her to come clean it.

I have enough to worry about with just trying to keep us from being homeless. I don't want to come home beat all to hell from work and then have to look at a dirty cat-box while I'm relieving myself and nag to get a few dishes done or the trash taken out. I just want to come home and chill.

It would be nice to be able to go to a doctor because on top of the right ankle hurting to the point I'm limping, trying not to limp, or not walking on it at all because it hurts too bad, I've also been sick with chronic diarrhea, bouts of nausea, vomiting, lightheadedness and dizziness. But I don't have any health coverage so I just get to endure until either whatever is wrong with me fixes itself or kills me.

In the mean time I just want to come home and chill while we still have a home.