The days blend into one another and I find myself marveling that summer is already half over. I say the day out loud,"Thursday", trying to orient myself with the present and I fill my time with activities and projects, anything really, because the down time oppresses and crushes.
I had acupuncture last week and have scheduled subsequent, weekly, appointments until we leave for NYC. I know my medicine and its benefits, even if I don't love the needles. Am I a hypocrite? I think my dislike of being poked is claustrophobia; I imagine myself like a butterfly specimen, pinned.
After last week's appointment, a layer has been peeled revealing the prickly, angry, edgy self that I've tried to keep at bay. I want company, but I don't want to seek it out. Overly sensitive, I isolate myself and then weep from the loneliness.
I'm tired and I forget to eat and I've lost weight and then I get paranoid. What does the weight loss mean? My body hurts, it has to be something...and then I remember. My body absorbed so much: stress; anxiety; grief; fear. Even though three weeks seems endless, I have to acknowledge that my time line with my body and its reactions isn't the way it is, just because I want it to be.
