Friday, September 4, 2015

Band Aid Relief

An odd thing has been happening to me lately. Okay, not to me, around me. I’ve been noticing certain things. These things are called band aids. They are everywhere.
            On my walk from the parking garage to my work, I see unopened band aids sitting on the sidewalk. I see used ones stuck on parking meters, trees and the street. Heck, I even saw one dangling off an empty coffee cup laying forgotten and crumbled next to a trash can outside a convenience store.
            It’s strange. All week long I’ve seen this elastic and cotton bits of mass manufactured bits of temporary relief that allows our body to heal itself. It’s like the world, the universe, the supreme power is trying to tell me something.
            Is the message “the human body needs help healing”? or “sometimes, small things matter”? or even “people are just disgusting because the discard biological hazardous waste so carelessly”? I don’t know.
What I do know is that I’ve been trying to get my own body healed. For the past twelve days, as of this writing, I’ve given up taking an extreme regimen of pills my doctor has had me on for the past five years. The pain killers, gone, the muscle relaxers, gone, the anti-inflamitories, gone. Basically, a total detox. No mood changers or physical relief unless it’s an over the counter crème or powder.
I stopped taking them cold turkey. I’m doing this in an attempt to force my body into working for itself. To reboot its system and start working for itself again and not rely upon manufactured man-made artificial drugs to cure the faults in my system.
It wasn’t easy.
            As expected, my body revolted. Not from my brain screaming out for the drugs, but from my joints, my bones and my muscles. This manifested itself as excruciating pain. Not the worst pain I’ve ever experienced, but pretty damn bad.
            Those first few days, I was hobbled over, limping, and shuffling like a man not days away from his death bed. I the proverbial troll under the bridge in that old Aesop fable. My family expressed concern and tried to nurse me as best as they could. Yet, even through all that pain, my will and determination were singular. Work through it. Make, no force my body to take care of itself.
            I knew mentally, when I started this, I’d need at least one person to be held accountable to for my actions. So I reached out to not just one, or two but three people. People I know who would answer a text message or phone call from me. They were very supportive and informed me that I should also speak with my doctor. Which I did and is a conversation for later.
            These three people I chose, did not let me down. They were and still are there for me to talk to about my situation. I cherish them for this.
            I also knew I couldn’t keep this quiet and personal. So I told everyone I pretty much came into contact with on a daily basis. A form of accountability. So they would know right after they asked me why I was hobbled over and had a look of pain and suffering stamped across my face. Some thought I was crazy, some thought it was honorable and some didn’t think at all. Yet all, have asked me within the last twelve days how my sobriety was going.
            My answer “Good. I’m doing well.”
            Which is true. This past Monday I actually woke up without any pain whatsoever. No aches in any of my joints. My muscles were relaxed, and pain that scoured my body, gone. I don’t know if this is a permanent condition or even if I will be able to survive the rest of my life without the damnable pills invading my system again.
            Now, I hope you’re not thinking “Oh, hell, Skip has gone off the deep end and he’s going to start preaching and hugging trees and worshipping a tree.”
            No, quite the opposite. This was a personal choice. A choice to try and make my life more manageable and better. Better for myself and my family.
            I made a similar decision years ago when some shrink prescribed mood pills for some emotional shit I was going through. Those pills within a month had basically turned me into a zombie. I had no opinion, I had joy and I took no pleasure in anything. I stopped them and dealt with the issues I was going through myself. I can’t say I healed myself but I did get better and I was forced to put myself in a frame of mind so that I could deal with any future crap that might come down the pike of my life.
            I did what I thought best for myself. Which is what we all should do. What you should do. You have to make choices for yourself and your life and your family for the betterment of your travels on this spaceship we call earth.
            I know I’m in a better place right now. I hope in the future I will continue to get healthy and sounder in mind, body and spirit. I have these same hopes for you, my dear reader. That you will find your own peace through whatever means in your life. Be it through your body performing miracles by healing itself, your mind dealing with unknown trauma or even a small band aid on your finger tip stopping the flow of life force rushing out of your body.
            Have a great week.

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