Tuesday, April 24, 2018

Rolled ankle

I waited for him in the dark of the alley when Ankle came staggering out. He always left by the backdoor so he could piss in the alley before staggering home; he found the toilets at the pub not fit for his feet reasoning the outside alley was cleaner for rain than the pub's toilets whose only water splashed was that from the men that made it.

I waited until he was midstream, where he'd relaxed the muscle inside a man that prevents an honest flow. I coshed him, he went down, I rolled him over and took his wallet, his hair soaking in the water of this own making. Then with deliberate care I walked out into the street just as it started to rain.

My left foot went to sleep and after three steps my ankle rolled. I thought for a second I'd monstrously hurt it and feared the sensation of life when the numbing left. There was no break but the ankle is swollen and it hurts to walk. There will be no riding until it heals. My mother's MS was foreshadowed by moments like this and there is scare within me that may be my fate.

I'd just committed to riding the exercise bike every day, even if I have an outside ride unless it's a slog. Now no riding until the ankle is norm. 

My body is more likely to roll an ankle due to gestational malformation; not hereditary but a once off curse. Like an evil fairy who got snubbed dropped one at you at birth. Except SCIENCE! and it was my mother. She didn't mean to but she did and she hanged shit on me her entire life for it. 

There is also one thing that is not hereditary and that is how you behave. Your chances to shed niche cultural indoctrination are there when your life becomes you own. But it was 40 before I understood that and that I was finally free from self-hate even as I was afflicted by PTSD, OCPD, depression and anxiety.

I got dealt a crappy hand; a body that does not work as it should but you'd only know if you asked or cared about me. A body judged for its height and girth backed by a brain riddled with complication.

But I wouldn't change a second 'cos that led to a life of professional glee and macro-assist.

Self-hate; don't do it, it's not worth it. I had thirty years of that and I have it no more. Even if the penalty is a still-broken body and a wobbly mind.


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