Stupid ankles, stupid valleys

I sprained my ankle a month or so ago. I was at the park with the kids, and was on a swing and went to stop the swing with my feet, but I didn’t have them down properly, and my left foot went sideways and bent in an unnatural way, and I felt a crack. And I knew it was bad. It hurt so much and I was scared I had broken it. I thought I was going to faint and be sick, but I managed to get us home in the car, and gradually it got better. But every now and then I’ll bend on it in the wrong way, and I’ll just feel intense pressure on the weak joint. It feels like it could break, or pop, or go very badly and I’d be worse off than I was before.

That’s how I feel, inside, so much right now. Not completely ok. And every now and then the pressure on me gets nearly more than I can bear and I’m afraid somethings going to give and all the kings horses and all the kings men won’t be able to put me back together. So much easier to never be broken in the first place, wouldn’t you agree?

I feel, bereft of words. I can’t quite figure out if this is just how everyone is feeling right now. The world feels so uncomfortable, like a pair of jeans that you always had to suck in for, but suddenly they’ve shrunk in the wash and they are no longer just uncomfortably tight, but cutting your body in two so you feel like you are doing damage to your organs when you sit down.

I’m not ok. But what does that even mean? Once you’re not ok, the world doesn’t magically just rush towards you and offer you cups of tea and fluffy pillows. There are still dishes to do, and meals to make, and bills to pay and a family that needs you, needs every last drop of you being poured out until you’re a big old jug of empty, and good grief woman just get a hold of yourself already. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Don’t you know how much you have to be grateful for? 

The problem is, you do. But you just end up feeling more rubbish for not being sufficiently grateful. Man we humans are a stupid bunch aren’t we? I’m just tying a knot and holding on. Hills and valleys. And I’m not alone. He has never left me, nor forsaken me. But I sure wish these valleys weren’t so damn deep.