How do you feel when you return home at the end of the day?

fractured reality/grace under pain

The NaBloPoMo prompt for today:
How do you feel when you return home at the end of the day?

I’m not sure I should have answered this one, as I doubt that my answer will be in sync with the intent of the ques­tion. I don’t leave home every day to go to work, or leave home every day, period.

How­ever, when I do leave home, how I feel when I return depends on many fac­tors. How did I feel before leav­ing? How long was I gone, and how much phys­i­cal, intel­lec­tual, and emo­tional energy did I have to expend while I was out? Did I have to deal with any­thing unex­pected, good or bad? How many peo­ple was I around? Were they strangers or peo­ple known to me? Did I encounter them all at once, or in small groups of one or two at a time? Was Sam with me as a buffer? fHow’s my blood sugar? Am I well hydrated? What was the weather like? Did I remem­ber to take my reg­u­lar med­ica­tions? What about tak­ing break­through pain med­ica­tion, anx­i­ety med­ica­tion, or a mus­cle relax­ant before I found myself in a state where they wouldn’t work very well? Did I use my scooter if there was much walk­ing? How noisy was the envi­ron­ment? Was it drafty, or overly hot or cold? Did I have to drive? Was I out to do some­thing I wanted to do, or was I doing some­thing I had to do?

Fre­quently, I’m so dog-​​tired that I can barely drag myself in the door. I have actu­ally fallen asleep sit­ting in the car, in the driver’s seat, more than once. (There are plenty of rea­sons that I do not drive much any more.) Deal­ing with the secu­rity sys­tem seems an intel­lec­tual chal­lenge designed for Ein­stein. I’m eas­ily con­fused and my mem­ory is beyond poor. Even if I am dehy­drated or I need to eat, I’m too tired to be inter­ested in food or even water. If I was out for too long, or if it was a par­tic­u­larly stress­ful period, I get a fever and my body reacts as if I’m in shock. I feel like I’m freez­ing, no mat­ter what the actual tem­per­a­ture around me is, and I start shak­ing badly.

So that’s how I feel most days when I return home at the end of the day, if I’ve had to leave home. I think that should go a long way towards explain­ing why I’m such a home­body these days! I am for­tu­nate in that I have Sam, Katie, and oth­ers in my life, so I am able to have a ful­fill­ing life with­out being very adventurous.

2 Comments

  1. Thanks for this… when I come in the door after work I am hor­ri­fied by the state of my home (fibro means that I have to con­cen­trate on doing what it takes to ensure my home isn’t closed for health vio­la­tions). If only I could make it what every­one says it should be… a refuge… but hav­ing a full time job, a 70 year old hus­band with arthri­tis, a 4 hour a day round trip com­mute to a high stress job in Boston, a dog, a cat, and two guinea pigs… means I don’t make much progress! Just took the dog to the state park for a walk on a lovely fall day, but trade­offs mean I’ll hang in and make sup­per for my hus­band, then go to bed. That’s my day. For some rea­son, I think you can relate!

    Love the NaBloPoMo prompts, maybe I will use them to get me writ­ing. And the image with this post really com­mu­ni­cated the pain of hav­ing fibro. Thank you.

  2. Cyn says:

    Nice to see you here!

    I def­i­nitely under­stand. I’d freak out if any­body but fam­ily were to visit here right now. Prob­a­bly just lay right down and die! And I don’t work.

    A four hour com­mute? That’s like hav­ing a sec­ond job!

    A cou­ple of my recent posts aren’t show­ing, so I need to trou­bleshoot them.

    The image is incred­i­ble. I found it on Flickr, and am def­i­nitely watch­ing that artist, who is very talented.