The slow, painful destruction of my body

Something interesting happened when I moved to Texas in 1999: my body started falling apart.  I was actually in good shape at the time, but almost immediately after my relocation, my body started to suffer various ailments from sleeping.  That’s right… sleeping. 

At the tender age of 22, I started waking up in the middle of the night because my arms were falling asleep.  This has remained a regular thing over the last eight years, and I’ve accepted it as a part of the aging process.  It’s a shitty part of that process, and for all I know it might actually mean I’m dying of blood parasites or something, but I’ve learned to live with it.

Then the pain started.

On nights when I’m not waking up to curl and uncurl my fists in order to bring some sort of feeling back into one arm or the other, I’m waking up to turn over because the side I’m laying on is aching.  Not fun.  And it wakes Shawna and the dogs up.  And it hurts.

And then there was last night, when I woke up two hours after I went to sleep with a throbbing pain in the base of my spine.  I turned onto my left side, which woke me up two hours later as it began to ache.  The next three hours were a constant routine of trying to find a non-painful position and failing each time.  Now I’ve been awake for more than an hour, and I’m still in pain.  I hate this.  In five years, I’ll probably wake up crippled.  Won’t that be fun?

Here endeth the self-pity.