bruised but not broken

someone wanted to buy me ice cream today. i think mostly because she thinks i am hurting but mostly because she wanted to be nice. then, between all the oooohs and ahhhhhs and “ohmygoshthatlookspainful” came a quiet moment when someone looked down and noticed the bruise on my hand.

“are you doing ok?”

“yes,” i answered. “things are moving along just fine.”

that said …

i don’t agree that it’s most likely been stress that has led to all the weakness and loss and crunchy joints the past year or so. there’s something deeper, something more connected than any doctor or friend or love has been able to lie a finger on. what is it? is my body angry or just plain getting old? i have no idea. but i’m not giving up on figuring it all out.

the year of falling apart was a figure of speech until it actually started to happen.

yes, i have bruises and one helluva nasty scar. but i refuse to fall apart without a fight. and if it takes a few scoops of ice cream to help ease the pain, so be it.




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