I Hate My Bed

I hate my bed. I really do.
But this wasn’t always so.
As a child, my bed was the source of many wondrous adventures and a space in which to contemplate the confusion of a world I didn’t yet understand. As a pre-teen, it was the place where I had my first magical kiss. When I became a young adult, I couldn’t wait to get home and bury myself beneath the soft fabric of my eiderdown after a particularly heavy night of partying or clubbing. And as a fully fledged, paid-up member of the grown up society, it was my haven from a hard day’s work and a place for all manner of lascivious behaviour…ah, good times.
When motherhood came a-knockin’, It once again, became a source of wondrous adventures where stories were told, secrets revealed and where talks of hopes and dreams where met with laughter and amazement.
Now, it is my prison.

Being bed-ridden is not something that I ever foresaw in my future. Those nights of longing for five more minutes, or wishing that I could while away the weekend in deep slumber, are no more.
Today I cried. I left my room in order to wash a few dishes after C (my son) had graciously served me dinner in bed and to retrieve the clothes that had been slowly fermenting in the washing machine for over twelve hours. And it hurt. Just climbing out of bed proved to be a job in itself and as my feet landed on the floor, my body felt so weighed down, it were as if it were about to become absorbed into the carpet. It took all my strength and effort to land one foot in front of the other as gravity played it’s game of trying to keep me firmly rooted to the spot.
But I managed to climb down the thirteen steps in my usual crab-like manner, ever fearful of falling, and then I could go no further. I slumped into the nearest chair and there I sat and wept.

I wept because of the pain. I wept at my inability to perform even the simplest of tasks. I wept at my lack of energy. I wept because I physically couldn’t move anymore. I wept as my son came downstairs, washed the dishes and took the clothes out of the washing machine without being told to do so. And I wept because I felt like a pathetic excuse for a mother as I let guilt consume me. Lastly, I wept because I knew that soon, I would have to return to my bed. My prison.
Sitting hurts, standing more so, but because my bed has a memory foam mattress that moulds itself to the shape of my body, it is the only place where I can get some pain relief.
Every fucking activity that I do, is succeeded by a place on that bed. I shower then have to lie down. Get dressed, then have to lie down. Do the washing, lie down. Hoover the room, lie down. Even after I make the bed, I have to lie down on it. And if there is shopping to be done, appointments to be met, functions to attend, then my spell in that bed could last a whole week or longer. A week in bed. That would have sounded so good when I was who I used to be.

So yeah, I hate my bed, because as the world outside continues to spin, I remain laid up and enfolded in the one thing that eases any physical pain. The mental pain it causes however, hurts much more than the ones that wrack my body.


6 thoughts on “I Hate My Bed

  1. I cannot imagine your pain or the enormous lifestyle change you’ve had to endure. I have never been able to wrap my head around the fact that I’ve been disabled for life – per the gov. – I have worked in some form or fashion since I was 9 yrs. old. Started paying taxes at 15 yrs. and then boom. Cancer, side effects and no work. People think it’s a vacation. It’s not. I’d much rather not be in pain and making a helluva’ lot more money. I’m sure you would too. My heart goes out to you my friend. ❤

    Liked by 2 people

    • Dear Karen, you nearly made me cry…again…
      The same could so easily be said about you. You went through something that must have had a profound way on the way you live your life and on the way you see the world. Like you, I still haven’t come to terms with having a disability and even now, many years on, I’m still mourning for the life I once had.

      You have definitely hit the nail on the head with the fact that some folk think we’re living the easy life. To think that there are those who think it’s a dream to never work or to be in bed all day, beggars belief. I would give anything to be pain-free and to go back to a job that I bloody loved, and to earn my own money.
      We laugh, we joke, but nobody really knows what is going on in our heads, or our bodies. My heart is sincerely with you. xx

      Liked by 1 person

      • I have one girlfriend. ONE. Who can look in my face and know when I’m in pain and at what level that pain is. Everybody else looks at me, and as you said, we laugh, we joke, so what could possibly be wrong with us? What disability? If only they knew.. I too would give ANYTHING to be pain-free and a 110% functioning member of society.. People just have no clue. They see the outside and if the outside looks fine then what’s the problem? When I travel I have to be pushed thru the airport in a wheelchair because my feet just will not go fast enough to catch my flights. It’s beyond humiliating. I could go on and on about the seemingly invisible disability but you my dear know all too well exactly what that is. Please know that I’m with you. I get it. ❤

        Liked by 1 person

        • Oh I hear ya Karen, and I definitely know that you get it. I have that one friend who will know instantly when I’m in pain and who also took the time to find out info about my illnesses.
          And you’re absolutely right, if you look well, then you can’t be unwell. That pisses me off more than anything, like we’re faking it for attention, or as a way to get out of working.
          Even if people saw you at your worse and at times when you’re being pushed in a wheelchair because the pain is unbearable, they still wouldn’t understand.
          Please feel free to rant and rave away. I’ve made the Facebook page accessible so that people can do just that.
          I’m here if you need to vent. xx


  2. Lily, I am so sorry that the bed, the place that brought you joyful memories and much needed rest after a hard day, has now become more like a prison and given this devastating illness, that is so understandable! My heart is breaking that all I can do is send hugs and understanding. Having some friends and an in-law with fibromyalgia, the chronic and debilitating pain you described is what I’ve heard and even a couple of times seen as people struggled just to move with unbearable pain. That you try so hard to get out of bed, out of the only place where you have a bit of relief is brave, and I know you’re also trying for your son who’s truly special in more ways than one.

    Btw, sweet memory that a bed was where you had your first magical kiss as a pre-teen. Mine was at a carnival by the guy (really just a young teen) who ran the ferris wheel. I’ll always remember that. Sometimes when life gives us bitter lemons, it helps for even just a little while to remember the days when lemons were sweeter. Sending love to you, my dear friend!

    Liked by 2 people

    • Madilyn, the biggest gift that anyone can give to someone with any kind of illness or disability is understanding, so thank you. I also thank you for your warmth, your sincerity, your genuineness, and you’re empathy.
      When I used to regularly suffer from depression, I made the choice that my son’s lasting memories wouldn’t be of me lying around in bed. And so every second of the day was taken up with doing something. My attempt to escape my bed, is a part of that, but I think the damage is already done. Still, I couldn’t have survived all this without him, so yeah, he really is special in more ways than one.

      Ah the kiss. I was 12 and Chris was 13. He was so sweet and attentive and that kiss was the most innocent, yet magical kiss ever. In saying that, I quite like the idea of being kissed by a guy that was part of a carnival. We young girls always saw them as dangerous, wild and very very hot!

      Absolutely LOVE that last paragraph! I may just have to make a little meme with those words.
      Thanks again, dear friend. xx

      Liked by 1 person

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