Friday, January 10, 2020

It Is A Curious Thing- To Own A Body and Not Just Be a Spirit . ( Dyspraxia, Autism, Chronic illness Ponderings)



It is a curious thing- to own a body- to not just be spirit but flesh, bone, neurones and muscles . To feel symptoms and wonder what is and is not legitimate. It is a curious thing to be entrapped yet also set free from the expression that is presented to the world of what one is.

The outer sometimes mixes with the inner and at other times it is completely at odds with what is being presented. At least that is how it feels to me. I can not figure out what parts of my confusion are dyspraxia and what parts are chronic illness or autism. Existence is confounding at times.

I feel as if I'm a cold ghost then all at once I am encompassed by fiery reality. It's a bewilderment when I catch my reflection, eyes sparkled, when I am expecting to see a dreary pale, face from a time of pain. Whom is this? Is this what the world sees? At other times I expect to see joy or beauty and I am shocked to find a shell staring back. But how? She felt such glimmers inside- where is the proof of it? How does the reflection seem to be so disparate from the inner mind of self?



The truth slants. It slides around on cement instead of absorbing into the porous, empty spaces. Like wax in a bag coating an injured foot, the heat contains but does not soak like water. It stays and hardens, creating a mould that when peeled off is a pile of mush instead of a cast of what was. Yet, somewhere there was magic. If, perhaps, magic is tiny bits of healing?

Orange and chocolate flake from forbidden muffins. Cream cheese absorbed, present but not shown. Yet, it teases the tongue with it's hidden charms. Are we not the same?

Thoughts, thoughts, thoughts, they swirl and become parts. Some manifest in pain while others are surprised, frozen joy. Lanterns hide the shadows as much as they brightly shine. Delicious delight in a forbidden night. Or foreboding in the midst of delight. It goes either way.

Unlocked words, locked up movement folded into one human soul. Pain is subjective yet true. How does one judge?

I find myself asking for help when healing is easy, and forgetting to ask when it is needed. Befuddled. Aid can often also disturb on a soul level. Rare, is it that aid is pure. Often it leaves me feeling like I'm covered in a white gown splattered with specks of dirt. Noxious is the nightshade of doubt.

Yet, there! There in that raw, overworked knuckle is hope in packed, hot fabric. Suction cups that are supposed to be pinching soothe. Perplexed healers. Why? They ask. Why do you feel fine when you should feel pain? Why do you feel pain when you should feel fine? Soft tissues, mysterious organ and visceral pain, smooth muscle and firing neurons sending wrong signals or perhaps they are right? Who is to say?

Lace out of fashion yet delicate stories embroidered as snowflakes. Bitter coffee spills, awakens, enlivens and ruins. Yellow splotches forever stay. Is the lace story any less valuable? Was the coffee the perpetrator or an innocent in it's own journey?

Sometimes I am the Diva and sometimes I am more passive than I should be. Sometimes my prison is my freedom because it enables me to see, to write, to be, to ponder or notice the small joys. And sometimes my freedom is my prison because I fool myself into believing it can be my every day. I grasp the freedom of 'normalcy' and soon after it becomes my personal bullet in the foot. It shatters the bones of illusions with cracked certainty. The doctors set 'what should be' back and nothing is the same again. Each time I think it will be fine it is not. When I think it is not fine - it is. I am Alice yet look in the glass at Kmarie. Is it important what I see? Is that a reflection of me? Is it important what you see? Does that factor into me?

How can I be so sure of myself on one hand but completely unsure of the next? That is what paradoxes do at times. This is how chronic illness undermines. Disability doubt. Mixed messages of acceptance and conformity.

I will not lie about it. I will not say something is that is not. I will not feel what I can not. I do know this. But that sometimes is all I know. What world do I live in where a gift that makes a face light up is not allowed because it is thought of as a bribe by establishment? Why is innocence so easily trampled, squelched, lost? Yet the gritty is lauded and applauded. Especially if it is attached to the 'righteous'? How do I embrace such paradoxes? I suppose since I myself am a paradox, it should be easier? Should's and could's do not change the world but how pretentious is it if I think I can be that change?

Yet, life is for the living. So that is what I must do. At least that part, for what is now, is as real as it is true.




Song Choice: Show Yourself- Idina Menzel




5 comments:

CalledtoQuestion said...

Marvellous. Things are never as they seem. It is a Hel of a situation (by Hel I mean Hel of the Germanic, Gauls and Norse.) Light and dark. Order and chaos. We face both each day. It is not so much a matter of choosing one over the other but just "Being" with both. One step at a time.

Kmarie said...

C2Q: love Norse myth! Always applicable and so true. The next right thing. Love you

Anonymous said...

I loved this blog. I think I get it - sometimes I look at my hands and I’m like “how is this skin stretched over my essence? This is so weird.”- Keren

Ashe Skyler said...

Very poetic. :)

Kmarie said...

Keren; I knew you’d get it! Right?! So weird!
Ashe; ha I don’t get poetry at all but a bit of prose or rhyming or metaphor is easy for me but usually I stay away from it - I have been favouring the practical for so long to get my point across when there is a side that’s strong in me for the mystical, mystery, alluding to, metaphors of paradox that sometimes I also to give it a spotlight ...🤣