Friday, January 10, 2014


I think that I have been overwhelmed by some circumstances in my life; moving is not the least of them. Part of me sits back and watches my daily activities with astonishment: I contact the post office, move furniture around, wash dishes and clothes. All the while, I feel a bit numb. I have nightmares about moving away from the Old House in Botetourt. Dreams in which my parents and brother figure predominately. Most of them center around the thought that we have to move, but nothing is done, nothing packed, no motion made toward the inevitable.

It was the same at Christmas. Christmas Eve was a plethora of baking and wrapping; so much so that my hands felt numb, and I went to bed at 7:30, absolutely exhausted. Christmas Day was a bit better for me, on the whole; the holy nature of the day lifts my spirits, if nothing else does. And "they" have changed my antidepressants. I wait everyday, sometimes I look out of the windows for hours, for the new pill to work.

I walk the dog now, as I have no lawn at this apartment. Even on the coldest of days, it must be done. No mood or delusion of fancy of the mind can change that. I cannot totally curl up and ignore the world. And there have been events I feel particularly awake for: the visit of Dark Star and Schrodinger, a back rub from my partner in love, little snippets of each day that I feel capable of handling.

I don't feel like cutting. I dutifully take my meds and bathe almost everyday now. I walk the dog. I have mercy on the cats and clean the litterbox, fill the water bowl, top off the food bowl.

It's not so much depression as a certain feeling that I am waking, after 4 years asleep.

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