I'm on a swing. I go forward and I go back, forward and back. In perpetual motion.
I have a bad back. It hurts, so I take painkillers. I feel queer, so I stop taking them. My back hurts, so I take painkillers.
Forward and back, forward and back.
At no point can I jump off the swing and feel like myself again. I either feel detached, disconnected and fuzzy or I feel excruciating pain. There's no middle ground. No balance.
I'm tired, but I can't relax. I rarely sit down. I can't get comfortable in bed. All I can do is walk, keep moving. Walking helps. I walk around the house in the morning to loosen up. I walk around the bedroom at night, reading my book.
I try to keep on top of the cooking and the washing and the cleaning, but it's not easy. Andy is helping where he can. I've been out a few times. We even went on holiday last week. It took me a tearful hour get out of the car one afternoon as the muscles in my back went into spasm and I couldn't move.
The hardest thing is not being able to take care of my children. Luckily they can feed themselves, dress themselves and entertain themselves. But I can't get down on the floor and play with them. I can't push them on the swings. I can't pick them up when they fall.
I can't pick them up.
Sorry this is so 'woe is me', but I'm fed up. I thought I'd be better by now. I see a physiotherapist tomorrow.
I've had enough of the swings. I want to get off.