The last one worked and I was finally able to sleep through the night.  I am now only taking Naproxen to keep down the inflammation.  There was no specific diagnosis, but I heard whiplash, pinched nerve, muscle spasm, and pre-flu muscle aches.  Whatever it was, it was despotic to say the least.  My body, for once, required that I pay it the undivided attention it deserved.

Sometimes I thank my feet at the end of the night for all they do.  Often, I sooth my hands with manicures.  I pamper my face with facials and expensive products.  I get my hair done.  I lotion my skin every day.  I do take care of myself, but in most cases it ends up being more about keeping up my appearance than having to do with being intentionally soulful.  The luxury of having and spending money on myself does my soul good, but the disconnect between the physical act of care and the soul's reception of it as kindness is all too prevalent.  

So I decided to treat the pain with deep breaths.  I let my belly release the anxiety of it, to let the throbbing do its thing - that of taking the toxins away from the inflammation.  I had to treat my neck like a coddled 5-year old who doesn't yet know that it's unrealistic and rude to demand so much.  They haven't learned to deny themselves; it's their right to command the attention.  And it will change soon enough.  I visualized my pain as an endearing child that I couldn't resit picking up and hugging.  Who knows if it helped, but I do know that I approached the shadows without judgement or fear and had to be excruciatingly patient with myself - and that, THAT...is fucking self-care.