tramadol: Tramadol is pain relief.Sometimes when I'm book ...

tramadol: Tramadol is pain relief.

Sometimes when I'm book ...: Tramadol is pain relief. Sometimes when I'm book packing, I take half a pill in the morning, just after the 10am meeting, and another ...

chance encounters

The last time they had seen me I was running through the sand in tears. I was rejected by my family and was living on the run because I didn’t really know what else to do.  I was running to ease the pain.  But I use the term running loosely, mostly the running was in my mind, it raced around in circles, a cycle of despair.  My body tried to run, but mostly it walked and rode and swam and took comfort with strangers, it moved until it was too tired to move any further and then it would stop, briefly, as I slept.

That day I was running from the street where I’d been waiting to catch a glimpse of my young children as they boarded the school bus. They’d looked away and closed the curtains to shield themselves from the desert sun and from the sight of their wild looking, scary mother, a grief ridden form; a lone figure on the sand.  They clutched their school bags, wore neat and tidy school uniforms and had bellies full of sustenance provided by the Nanny. ‘Safe and Well’ said the report from an officer at the embassy, sent by CAFCASS to check on the boys’ well being after the abduction.

The couple I’d known as friends drove past me dressed for work, smart entrepreneurs heading for a day of regular business, there were no embraces when chance had us meet that day, there was a gulf between us, (it crossed my mind that maybe they regarded my pitiful state as somehow contagious) we had been close over the years, that family and mine. Our lives were a series of walks in the Alborz mountains, picnics, parties, we’d done things together as families, theirs and mine … but that day when we encountered one another on the sand there was a deep chasm; no common ground on which we could base our relationship; I was outcast and they were together on their track, forging a path to a successful business, they looked at me through vacant eyes, a glance across the desert sun and sand. We acknowledged each other, politely and then they were in a hurry, had a bus to catch!

I had time, I ran and walked and cried until I was exhausted and then I’d get some sleep, and that’s how I survived.

                                                                           

Now it’s springtime. My boy is 14 years old and we bounced along the path on our way to a café in his neighborhood, chatting about this and that and who’s doing what where, and our respective social events of the night before … we walked alongside the river flowing merrily beneath our feet and running over rocks and forging a smooth path for itself, as the running water eroded the rough stone surfaces that over time had and made them smooth, there we were, me and my boy and the flow of the water all running downhill together.  We ordered croissant and coffee for me and hot chocolate and apple pie for him and we sat there, together at ease and taking pleasure in each others company. 

I love time with my children, it’s so nourishing, and when he stands tall and looks at me, face to face and then reaches out for physical contact, holds my arm to guide me safely across a busy street, or holds on tight as we part and says ‘I love you’ I know it’s real. 

It’s been a long journey, a relentless and ongoing campaign but there are times when I can stop and mark a milestone, and realize the point at which I find myself.  And seeing them that day as we walked out of the café was one of those times. I was greeted with big smiles, wide-open arms and big hugs,  not only by Mr. and Mrs. but also by their daughter and the brother of Mrs. who I’d met only on several occasions and over a decade ago.  Body language speaks volumes and it made me glow that my boy got to see his mother getting such a genuine and warm greeting from members of the enemy camp; the universe was showing him that his mother is no monster, that she is loved and accepted. We were in tune with the world, touched by humanity through a chance encounter on a beautiful spring day.

Tramadol is pain relief.

Sometimes when I'm book packing, I take half a pill in the morning, just after the 10am meeting, and another after lunch break at 2pm to soothe my time at work.  The pills provide a sense of well being.

My feet barely touch the ground and my attention gets directed to basic functions such as the way my body moves through the warehouse; I focus on the particular way I'm bending as I swoop down to pick from a lower shelf, or I concentrate on moving gracefully, as I reach up to pick from a higher shelf and then as I carry the books to their designated box (sometimes I need to double check it's the right box, especially when I've taken pills), I do it with a heightened awareness of exactly how they are balanced by my body that supports the load, I pack with a stronger sense of purpose ... pills  transform the mundane into a piece of performance art. Well anyway, that's what is going on in my head, and what goes around in my head is all that really matters.

So, these blog posts work like Tramadol; they are an expression of stuff that whirls around in my head that give me a sense of well being.  Sometimes the words that drift around in my head develop a kind of structure, they begin to organize themselves into a sort of 'narrative image'  like a story in a snapshot and then the words can find release from the whirly pit inside my head, they take on a formation that can be posted out to the world. Out of my head and off into cyberspace. When it's gone there's a sense of ease, well being, (I call it the Tramadol effect).

And that's what these blog posts are about.