* I’ve been changing my mind so many times regarding which one would it be the best methodology to write down about pain and disease and crip identity; after reading the essay Bad mood by Kroot Juurak, I was pretty sure that I wouldn’t even try to write down about pain in the middle of experiencing pain, as I would risk to write just: fuckkkkk it’s so painfulllllll, I can’t write it’s sooo painfuuuuull (that actually seems a very valid and plastic way of putting extreme feeling and sick flesh into words). However in the last months I’ve been spending a lot of time in bed, because of an acutization of my right ankle’s inflammation. The first episodes were quite scary to the point of crawling on the floor if I wanted to go to the bathroom; the more recent ones are not that extreme but still, living in a house with stairs doesn't make it easy to do even simple things, like to cook a meal(Nevertheless I am quite lucky as I live with many beautiful people, and we can support each other in difficult times).
During these episodes, beside the first hours of strong pain and difficult acceptance of the fact that I won’t be able for the next few days to do even the easier and regular activities of my routine, I found myself spending a lot of quiet and lucid time. Once I accept the fact that I won’t be able to dance, to train, to work, to go to the university, even to meet a friend for a coffee or do groceries, the resting time is not so bad and seems a bit of a daydreaming situation. Without that pain I wouldn’t allow myself to rest. The fear of missing out disappears in the moment you realize you can’t do anything outside your room and you just have to stay (with the trouble). In the last episodes I was in pain but not enough to be overwhelmed by the pain, so that my brain and creative energy could eventually be active. So I try out a couple of times to write about the pain during the pain, to put myself at work during the pain, and find out that writing heartening the sadness, made me alive, became once again a very comforting place to not collapse, to stay kind of hook up, from far away, to the outside world.
During these episodes, beside the first hours of strong pain and difficult acceptance of the fact that I won’t be able for the next few days to do even the easier and regular activities of my routine, I found myself spending a lot of quiet and lucid time. Once I accept the fact that I won’t be able to dance, to train, to work, to go to the university, even to meet a friend for a coffee or do groceries, the resting time is not so bad and seems a bit of a daydreaming situation. Without that pain I wouldn’t allow myself to rest. The fear of missing out disappears in the moment you realize you can’t do anything outside your room and you just have to stay (with the trouble). In the last episodes I was in pain but not enough to be overwhelmed by the pain, so that my brain and creative energy could eventually be active. So I try out a couple of times to write about the pain during the pain, to put myself at work during the pain, and find out that writing heartening the sadness, made me alive, became once again a very comforting place to not collapse, to stay kind of hook up, from far away, to the outside world.
