Using a dictation device in order to write this note find out shortly why. One of the super annoying parts of using this dictation app is that it doesn't do punctuation even long pauses and end words that would clearly end the sentence are not recognized. So the app is super frustrating in that you end up having to go in every couple minutes or seconds even and type in punctuation or clear up and define words and when you're using it specifically because you shouldn't be typing that is definitely annoying.
I have experienced this pain before the first time I remember it being this bad I had just typed a blog that was probably a few hours long on an iPad and I remember thinking that the force of the tapping on the screen over and over was what had caused the pain. I knew that it was coming on while I was typing but it was easy to ignore for a little while but afterwards I couldn't write for a week. That first time I believe I was still traveling and so I had a lot to occupy my mind however writing is a huge part of travel for me and so I remember even then feeling really uncomfortable with the idea that I wouldn't be able to write for a while.
So the pain seems to come on from the lower part of my wrist. When I have my palm face up it's the side that is closest to me and what happens is it's not a particular angle or movement that causes the pain it's just present.From that point the pain radiates throughout mywrist and then into my hands to myfingers and then down the opposite way through my forearm basically to my elbow. When my palm is facedown the pain emanates from the spot in the center of my wrist and branches towards my knuckles and about halfway down my arm.Now because the pain does not come on do to any particular movement it is at first very easy to ignore. But over time the repeated movements start to increase the pain which becomes incredibly distracting.
So then what begins as a dull ache when I'm typing becomes a sort of all encompassing irritation that won't go away. In contrast to pain that I felt and other times or places which has made it impossible to think, this pain seems more able to stifle my thoughts in a way that keeps them from continuing onward but not quite making it impossible to think. For example yesterday I spent three hours typing the same three or four paragraphs over and over and over again. At the end of that slow progress I was happy with what I produced but I felt that the effort it took in order to accomplish such a small feat, was not worth the effort and that it removed the joy from the process.
The pain continued even after I was through typing, and left me in a state a kin to despair because with the mental anguish I felt alongside the actual pain I became very worried that I would not be able to continue writing. When I consider many of the joys in my life thus far they in many regards require a bit of physical dexterity as well as the mental capacity to present well formed ideas.
Consider drawing or painting or writing or any sort of use of a computer as examples. When I considered the level of anguish I felt concerning this new predicament, I became aware of the immediacy that the pain caused. At other points in my life I have often reflected on the way symptoms of mental illness such as depression can narrow a person's perspective or understanding of their life, and I found that the immediacy of this pain significantly narrowed my worldview as well. The extent of this narrowing was hard to define and even somewhat hard to consider given the pessimistic outcomes. For instancethe constant level of pain with seemingly noend quickly led me to envision cutting off my own arm finding it preferable within my imagination to substitute a prosthetic or even a stick that I could continue to use for typing. Furthermore I was troubled by notions that I would not be able to continue any of my favorite hobbies and considered a life without this form of creative expression to be a life not worth living.
Now being the reflective soul that I am, I did recognize these red flags as symptomatic of an untenable position within my daily life. In that the loss of a hobby should not necessitate amputation or thoughts of unnatural demise but what I quickly came to realize was that I hold these hobbies to be an essential expression of who I am as well as a way ofstaking my claim on the world. But Mike you say, don't you have so much more to offer so many reasons to live outside of your hobbies? Sure I reply but given the circumstances of my life these last few years the general decline of what could be considered my career trajectory my lack of romantic relationship or family or even a community in which I offer a necessary part, the truth is that I didn't see and perhaps don't still, any lofty reasons for continuing my existence, if the aforementioned inability should persist. This awareness caused me to reconsider something a friend asked a few days ago namely Mike are you depressed? And I responded at the time no which I still consider to be true however I am now much more aware of how easily I could slide into that state of mind.
This makes me wonder what is it that makes life worth living? In a few short months I will be attending grad school where I will be trained to consider more options and how to help people how to strengthen individuals and communities, but knowing this did not remove the despair I felt with urgency in the moment. Knowing that I would upset friends and relatives did not remove the pessimistic worldview that led me to considering my own death. Being aware of other possibilities for how to enjoy life such as travel or enjoying music and art or movies did not remove my narrowness of vision. It was as if not being capable of adding to these experiences through written or artistic expression made the whole less meaningful.
Even my ability to communicate verbally seemed utterly futile in comparison to the means of written communication and I recognize two different parts of this,first that my ability tovisually depict my thoughts is a cherished and entirely different skill set or ability than the means to verbalize them. For example my dictation of this piece has been slowand far more frustratingly difficult to consider in real time than the process by which I communicate my thoughts in writing. This notion is not something I haven't considered before and to the best of my ability the only conclusion I have been able to draw is that when writing I often feel as if I am guided by a muse whereas in verbalizing I have to carefully consider and reconsider eachthought and word on myown. it may be that I am just a visual learner but I cherishthe ease at which both logic and creativity flow from my fingertips.Secondly then and perhaps guided by my ego, there is the notion that written statements may be saved for posterity whereas a word spoken into the airsurely dissipates. This is the reason I choose to write poems, the reason for my endless blogs, for the journals that are never seen, for the notes on napkins and for my hope to publish even when I know a readership is doubtful. Ego what a joke.
So perhaps it is this ego that has suffered far more than my wrist, this ego that shrouds my creativity, that barricades away allnotions a possibility, that derives a sense of having been slighted, that is frustrated to self-pity and wishes an end rather than to toil at new beginnings.
I am reminded that many amputees rate their life satisfaction equal or better one year after the loss of a limb and likewise that winners of the lottery are as likely a year later to report dissatisfaction and the loss of happiness which pointsto factors outside of the immediate and rather to the ongoing sense of purpose the connection with others in the community and a level of resiliency to the daily pains, the ups and downs, the pitfalls that we all face and face better when we have others to rely on.
So finally for posterity and for my own future reflection let me end by saying the following: I noticed my spirit growing lighter when later that evening I was chatting with a friend who sought me out not knowing of the pain and not caring because she believed in me regardless and knew that even if such a permanent change occurred I would still be worthwhile, or rather just worthy.
