Mental Health

Complete

"curl shine" © Jon Fife, 2007. CC BY-SA 2.0.
curl shine” © Jon Fife, 2007. CC BY-SA 2.0.

Last night I curled up on the couch hoping that maybe, just maybe, if I could fold into myself tight enough I would simply cease to exist.

Today I got up, put on three layers of clothing plus rain gear, and took a walk with a friend.

Came home, did laundry, and went running. Continue reading →

Mental Health

Source

"Nail in the Fence" © Grant Frederiksen, 2014. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
Nail in the Fence” © Grant Frederiksen, 2014. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
“You have a really strong core. Great muscles in your lower back and shoulders. It’s just that a lot of them are holding things kinda, you know, in the wrong place.”

He spent thirty minutes trying to get parts of my anatomy I never learned the name of to release my left shoulder. Let it fall down, shift back. Slide into the place it used to reside. Before the motorcycle crash. Before I started leaning on it while studying, reading, writing. Before I forgot how to relax. Continue reading →

Mental Health

Trahere

"'Starry Night'...The Rains of Isaac Falling" © Viewminder, 2012. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
‘Starry Night’…The Rains of Isaac Falling” © Viewminder, 2012. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0.
Hydroplaning. Enough water to lose friction, but not enough to create more. I feel like if I had just a little more ache I could name it. If I had just a little less I wouldn’t have to.

I talk about how I got up this morning. When the alarm clock went off, even. On less than twelve hours of sleep. Amazing. I revel in my ability to take a shower and put on clothes. To leave the house. Keep appointments. Can it count as friction? Please. Something to give me a little traction so I feel less like I’m sliding. Careening. Out of control. Helpless.

My shoes skid across the sidewalk and I swear I’m floating. People are just blurs of hats and scarves. Sunglasses. Warm, fuzzy blobs of color and noise. I am completely disconnected. Nothing you’re saying sounds like words. I smile, but I don’t see you. Not really. Keep my hands in my pockets, unsure if I’d actually feel my touch on anything. Begging to feel like I’m residing in my own body. Like I have any sway over what happens in my head. Continue reading →