A New Syndrome

Today's post will be a struggle.  Troubles and worries and not much else.  Mom's feeling terrible, she says.  

"Where?"  

"All over."

I believe her.  She didn't eat her dinner last night.  She went to "lie down."  I don't remember seeing her again before I went to bed.  I don't remember what time I went to bed.  It could have been early.  I took another P.M.  That's three nights in a row.  I sleep well but get up tired.  

"How'd you sleep?" I ask my mother this morning.

She just shakes her head.  

"Do you feel any better."

"No. I hurt all over."  

It is a hard case.  Can they up her pain meds?  The doctor already seems spooky about how much she's taking now.  Her pain is palpable, and it is taking us both down.  There is nothing I can do.  But we go to the pain doc tomorrow, so we'll bring it up.  

Her life is very internal now.  Her world is shrinking.  

I took this exactly one year ago when she could still smile.  

I have to quit reading the news in the morning and watching it in the evening.  I don't want to say "they lie" but the morning papers have more speculation and opinion than fact and the t.v. news is all hype with watches and warnings and what to look out for.  They report flood "warnings" and tornado "watches" and the like, and I worry about people who live in those places, but when I call or write them, no, nothing like that happened.  "Everything's fine.  It might have been to the north, south east or west of us." 

I'll watch no more.  

These blurry pictures are from the Asian marketplace with various booths and restaurants.  It is all food.  And look--people are enjoying themselves.  These photos mean nothing, but I enjoy the "feel" of them.  I'm fairly addicted to the blur.  

I wish I could cheer up.  I wish I did not have to worry and worry and worry.  I feel anxious all the time now.  It never goes away and sometimes borders on panic.  And I have acquired something new recently, a brand new syndrome--I can't stand to be touched.  Sometimes people will touch me on the shoulder, and there is a woman at the gym who always wants to hug. These things feel painful to me now, and I had to tell the woman I didn't want her to hug me anymore.  There must be a name for this one.  

O.K.  I just looked it up. 

Haphephobia: A rare specific phobia and anxiety disorder involving a morbid, persistent fear of touching or being touched by others.  Can trigger a panic response, including a fast heart rate, hyperventilation, sweating, shaking, or freezing in place.

Maybe I should actually go in for a massage instead of talking about it.  A massage and a facial. It might help.  But I know I'm getting buggy.  The life I lead is one of constant stress and morbid fear.  At night, I dream of my failures.  They are plentiful.  Almost everything.  Any success I may have believed in now seems like a Willy Loman concoction.  

If history is any guide, in a day or two my mother will rebound.  Not all the way, but enough, and we will begin the cycle once again.  I, on the other hand. . . .  

I am so very tired.  

I've just dumped a bunch of shitty pictures on you here so that I can get rid of them.  My folders are full of such things.  Shitty pictures, shitty writing.  

I gave you that song by Ella Langley right after Q gave it to me.  Well, I think it seems a little plagiarized now that I've heard this song.  There is at least the kernel or the germ of the idea for her song here.