I wish that I could take a picture of what my back looks like. But that would require a near live dissection and that would be gross. And it will never show you what I feel anyway. The massage therapist can find the knots. I can feel when he finds them. He can tell me where they are.
But it isn't like they are really going to look like knots, nothing celtic and complicated. They are not even going to be pretty like knots in burled wood. Its just muscle that is hard due to hyper contraction. It hurts. But no one can see it. I feel it.
Every time his forearms run over my lumbar I feel like he is washing the linen by a Walnut Creek and I am the wash board. He has to use his fore arms. If he used his fingers all he would do is bruise me. There are so many knots. And so close together.... It isn't just my back. He found knots in my shoulders where I am using my upper body to compensate for the fact that I can barely walk. He found the scar tissue from the tears in my hamstrings, the glute and something called a QL. He found the weak spot in my calves. He could paralyze me with one well placed fingertip, with very little pressure if he were a sadist or a bond villain.
Don't get me wrong. I love my guy. He is careful. He is thoughtful. I want my boyfriend to see him to get his back in working order again. I just don't love the pain. I don't love the nearly incapacitating waves of seizure when the muscles decide that I have done too much. I don't love that I can not tell that I've done too much.
I wish I could see what this looked like.
I wish others could see what this looked like. Because they all seem to think that I should be doing some Olympic sport. I've never been Olympic material. I have no desire to be Olympic material. I just want to do my life without pain. And when there is pain I want the people who keep telling me to suck it up to have to feel what this feels like.
Its not been this bad in a long time. Even the hamstring incident of 2012 wasn't like this. Searing, paralyzing and random acts of betrayal by my body leave me raw emotionally. Emotionally raw me is not fun. I don't know what I will do to lash out but I always do.
Hulk Smash? Not likely.
Sherlock Eviscerate? Oh yes.
Let me just calculate the odds, chart the behaviors of certain persons who seem eager to poke me with a sharp mental stick to arrive at the probability of not only the first victim, but the method by which they step into the scope and by what scathing retort I shred them.
Oh yes..... Someone is going to get Andersoned.