Home: frustration and health

frustration and health

I wish I could help more.

It's been two weeks now that your back has been getting progressively worse, and I have to sit here, unable to help, unable to do more than say nice things, and encourage you.

Do you know how much that rankles me, angel? Do you know how frustrated that makes me feel at times?

Day after day, talking to you on the phone and hearing the catch in your voice when you move wrong. Or sitting beside you, watching you wince when you move just a little bit too much. Or waking up, and finding that you've had to sleep on the couch because your back has siezed up during the night.

It's not you I'm frustrated with, angel. It's me. It's the feeling of helplessness that I have when I see you in pain, and I'm unable to help. It's the impotence that washes over me as I see you hobbling and scared and angry, and knowing that nothing I do can help.

It's silly of me, I know. I'm *not* in charge of the world, after all. (If I was, ... but then that's another letter, isn't it?) There's not much I can do to help right now. You're doing all the right things - avoiding lifting anything, icing your back, and taking it easy. You're getting the right kind of treatment from a professional. But I still want to help, angel.

I find myself wanting to come over there and wrap you in my arms, and tell you everything is going to be all right. I want to press the "easy" button, like in the Staples commercials, and have your back pop back into perfect condition. But life's never that easy, is it? I'm going to have to patiently wait here, watching you as you go through your recovery, and encourage you every chance I get.

It's not easy, angel. After all, I *am* a control oriented personality. If something's wrong, I have a compulsion to try to fix it. I know this, and I'm trying not to let it get to me. But when you hurt, I hurt. And when I can't do anything about the source of the pain, it gets difficult to know what I can do.

So, I find myself giving you more room when we sit together. I find myself gingerly holding you, instead of wrapping myself around you. I find myself more tentative with you than when we were first dating. It's not you, angel. It's me. I worry about hurting you when I mean to give you pleasure. I worry about touching you wrong, and putting your recovery back weeks.

I know it's silly - I know you're not really that fragile. I know you're getting better, and that my touch makes you feel better. My head knows, anyways. My heart is all over the place.

I miss touching you, angel. I miss holding you, and making you feel wonderful. I miss lying with you, afterwards, holding each other, and touching each other. I miss listening to your breathing returning to normal, and watching as the twitches and spasms slow and fade. I miss walking with you, hand in hand. I miss you draping yourself all over me, and arousing you with my touch. I miss putting you over my knee, and hearing you shriek with outrage, and wriggle with pleasure at your helplessness.

But I am a patient man. I know you will be like that again, angel. I know you miss it as much as I do. And I know that you are as frustrated as I am by the current situation.

I love you, angel, and I look forward to you getting back to health soon. Take care of yourself, and don't worry about me. I'll be there to help you get better, and I'll be there when you're ready.


posted at 06:08 PM :: Comments (1)
filed under musings

comments on this entry

i enjoy your words and letters to Your angel. i am wondering if You will ever write again. My fantasy of You both is seeking an ending.

— posted by: Picolina on January 6, 2006 02:11 AM


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