Going my way

Lying prone on the couch, I slowly twist my leg in an effort to reduce the ache in my hip that has prevented much movement in the last 48hrs. I am rewarded with a searing hot flash of pain, and am unable to stop a small moan from escaping my lips before I notice the fear and concern in my hubby’s eyes. “Anything I can do?” he asks resignedly, knowing that there isn’t. I smile and shake my head, and we both retreat back into the fantasy world of our electronic devices.
            I find myself constantly angry. Angry with myself for not handling my pain better, angry at not feeling able to do simple tasks, angry at having to ask for help, and angry for receiving it. The bus driver who takes a speed-bump too fast becomes a malicious villain in the harrowing narrative of “how to get through the day before I can come home and tap out on the couch”. I often wonder if the pain is all in my head, if I am subconsciously creating this situation to feed some diabolical need to punish myself- ironically punishing myself greatly with this thought process.
            I often wonder if it is this or depression and hopelessness that keeps me from taking better care of myself. Stretching, exercising, eating better and using proper body mechanics are all areas in which I have spent much time researching, but very little in practical application. Is it because I am inherently lazy? Am I a couch person, a drain on society, filing a workers comp claim and sponging off my employers in an effort to work as little as possible, and garner sympathy by whining about my pain? Whatever the answer, the constant asking of these questions has me feeling berated and sad. Perhaps its easier to see it as a flawed choice on my part, then an inescapable reality?
            I often don’t recognize the heavyset, unhealthy looking image that greets me in the mirror. I try not to think about the ways in which my appearance has changed, that I have let myself go. I wish to be invisible, to avoid friends and family until I can get back to the way I was, not wanting to accept the obviousness of my changes to others. Observations and judgments made by onlookers often serve to fuel my anger and self hatred, rarely inspiring the positive change that the commenter intends. I am becoming blind to myself in an effort to protect myself. The fact that I choose this road rather than effort towards positive change serves as further evidence to the jury of one in my head that the root of my problem is laziness, imperfection, user error. And so it goes.
            I have begun to stop believing that there is a way out of constant and unexpected pain. Bending down may always hurt. I may never sleep well again. That blissful moment in which I feel no pain, that I am constantly searching for, may never come. Instead, numbness has become my ally, taking a cue from the muscles surrounding the affected areas of my back, which are most often partially if not completely numb. Why choose to feel if it hurts? Numbing myself has become such a daily ritual that I often feel trapped by it. In a fog, the rest of my life appears to be on hold, but of course it is speeding along without me, drawing its own conclusions in my absence.
            How to bring myself back to awareness? To follow a path of acceptance and positive change? I feel helpless and at a loss, on the side of the path, halfheartedly thumbing for a ride.