Yes, you’d be quite right if you came to the conclusion that I had been missing in action. I have been doing what all good kiwi do, in order to stay alive. Hide from anything alleged to be a predator.
This is a kiwi. (A kiwi is not a piece of fruit, that is a kiwifruit). Outside of captivity the kiwi is actually pretty hard to find. They are nocturnal and prefer foraging in the undergrowth, keeping out of the path of their predators. That long beak helps them in this foraging process. While it might look strange, sometimes I wish I had a beak like that, so that I could forage away, safely out of harms way, and manage to turn over the good from the bad in the undergrowth.
I might not have the beak I would like but I have been foraging in the undergrowth myself. It’s a good place to stay safe, keep out of trouble, and reflect. Sometimes it gets a bit dark and lonely, but then bumping into other friendly birds in the undergrowth could provide for some companionship without risking the broad light of day. My good friend Ruby and I seem to cross paths in the undergrowth a bit. And I like that, although both of us seem in positions where we are unable to be of much help to each other beyond recognition of each other’s pain. While I would never wish pain on Ruby, it is sometimes nice to know that I am not alone in this.
Okay, so what does all this mean, you’re no doubt wondering?
On a literal sense my eyes are now giving me trouble courtesy of Graves’ Disease. It seems even more likely now that this little number is returning from remission, and it does not please me. At this stage there is no treatment for my eyes available (until get gets worse and might require surgery). The worst of it is pain behind the eyes. The only relief I can get is a dark room with my eyes closed. It helps a bit for the time I am there, but it does mean very little gets done.
But it is the figurative darkness that disturbs me most. I can’t think straight (it’s taken me all day to write this because five minutes at a time is a marathon), I don’t want to think, I don’t want my feelings. I don’t want anyone to ask me how I am. I just want to sleep. All this spells one thing to me:
Perhaps I mistakenly thought that when my medication got sorted out a few weeks ago, that I would be back to me. The problem though (I think) is that I have been dealing with some very difficult and uncomfortable feelings in therapy lately. Actually it’s more like a long running saga, but maybe I’m getting some where. The problem is that it hurts like hell.
I regularly tell other people that feelings are just feelings, neither good nor bad. And it’s true. I know it is. It’s just really hard to practise what I preach when I don’t like those feelings. I’m trying not to judge myself based on those feelings but I find myself feeling guilty, ashamed and just generally not a very nice person. I’m quite sure if you knew the substance of those feelings you wouldn’t like me either.
I apologise for not being able to go into the details but I set some rules for myself when I started blogging (using my real name). There are some things I am simply not able to discuss here because of the impact that could have on other people.
But I don’t think the details really matter. What this is about it finding a way to do what I tell others to do. Feelings are just feelings. They are just are. But do I accept that when I find myself completely mortified by some feelings, let alone the intensity of them?
I think I did what any self-respecting kiwi does. Scurry for the undergrowth and hide from predators. Otherwise those predators (perhaps my judgments on my feelings) will whip my sorry arse. For US readers read “ass”). Hmm.
Meanwhile I would like to thank my friend Kevin for coming out looking for this missing kiwi. I think I needed that. Thank you Kevin. I’m not sure how long I was planning on staying there. And a big thank you to Frank for holding my hand in the dark.
And now I’ve been in day light too long, my eyes are hurting again, and it’s time to find my darkened room again.
Hope is the feeling that the feeling you have
– Joan Kerr