When I was 18, I slammed my thumb in the car door. It happened while I was getting ready to drive back to school and my hands were full from packing the car. It was a Sunday night and the thought of staring down the barrel of an eight hour drive with nothing to consume my thoughts but the pulsing, building pressure in my thumb felt like a death sentence. It hurt like hell and I couldn’t escape it. I went to my neighbors house and they suggested I drill or make a small hole in my nail to relieve the pressure. In many cases, this provides immediate relief but you have a certain window in which you can do it, otherwise, it’s too late. In my case, I waited too long.
Life is funny that way sometimes. You don’t know you need help until you’re in the thick of it. Along the way, you could have opted to take the life raft but you try to stick it out. Why? You think if you can make it to a certain point, it will get better only to find it gets worse. Ultimately, I didn’t get in the car and sit for eight hours with that pain. I opted to stay home and do what I could to make myself as comfortable as I could.
I made the analogy recently that I wish I could drill a hole in my head to relieve the pressure. My head has felt so heavy—like it simply doesn’t have room for one more thought or problem. Similar to slamming my thumb in the car door, I wish I could simply relieve the pressure. There was a point where I could have, too. It would have been much simpler to take a few off ramps that wouldn’t have overloaded my brain to this extent yet here we are.
When I slammed my thumb in the car door, I called my grandmother (Omie). I was beside myself on the phone which sounds trivial, that something so minor could elicit that response. In-between my sobs, I was able to tell her the situation and explain what happened. Instead of making me feel like I was overreacting, she listened and comforted me. She empathized with me and told me she had done the same thing many years ago and knows that pain. The irony was that her story included slamming her thumb in the tanker truck during WWII which was taking her to safety during the air raids/bombings. I mean my God, way to put things into perspective (lol). BUT that wasn’t her intention nor was it ever.
Learning your tolerance for pain whether it be physical or emotional is essential for survival. Knowing when, or rather that it’s okay, to accept help is a sign of growth that I’m becoming more familiar and hopefully comfortable with.
I finally feel like I’ve relieved the pressure.
…to be continued!