What a master at disconnect, without trying, an unfortunate outcome from childhood and numerous, countless sexual attacks from those I loved, trusted and looked up to. I totally disconnect from my body until it cannot be ignored any longer. Also an escape. Be it exercise, drugs, drink, shopping, food, you name it, too much of something may be an escape.
My drug of choice since the age of 8…food. I ate to numb. I ate so much I threw up in the night. Mom kept feeding me. It was all she could do, or would do. Chapter 2:EIGHT
The one thing comforting me has the potential to kill. The recent hospital stay gave me the scare I know I needed. Otherwise, I’d keep up with my life-long habit of pacifying my ache for love with food. Fill the hole up fast then everything is alright.
Except it isn’t. My war torn body has had enough of my tyranny. The fragile lining of my digestive tract bled out. I almost received two units of blood but my meek protests allowed time for blood counts to rise slowly so doctors knew the bleed had stopped. The diagnosis, internal bleed due to Meloxicam use.
With a serious demeanor, looking steadily into my eyes, the attending physician stated “No NSAIDS ever again. ” My GP confirmed this at the follow-up visit after discharge.
In order to heal the area bleeding, other precautions are needed in terms of diet and drink, the same ones as if treating GERD. Though the Meloxicam prescribed for my impinged shoulder caused the bleed, the surgery 30 years ago, and my need to over-fill, made me vulnerable to the medicine. That is my diagnosis. BUTCHERED
There’s no running off. Time to be here, present, in my body…my poor body. What I’ve done to it over the years, especially these last few when the tissues are wearing out and cannot take my abuse any longer. It is time to care deeply, go deeper, and truly connect within to my insides, a place I’ve been running from.