Iâ€™ve spent the past three days doing nothing. I keep bringing my mind back to now again and again, asking of myself only to heal. My body is weak from the fever Iâ€™ve had, and as I left or right, my eyes ache from the sudden sharp movement. My body feels fragile like a porcelain dollâ€™s.
I can tell that Iâ€™ve been pouring too much energy out lately, and have been doing nothing to fill up my inner well. I look in the mirror, and see once again, Iâ€™ve aged. I step on the scale, and though the pounds havenâ€™t changed, the percentages haveâ€”Iâ€™ve lost muscle recently. Lost muscle, and courage too.
So I spent these past three days lying mostly still, watching the light change, folding laundry, making simple food. I donâ€™t feel ready to go back to work yet, but at some point, today or tomorrow, I know I will. It isnâ€™t a choice. So I try instead to imagine a different outcome. I try to envision strength and boldness and verve. I call a therapist and make an appointment. I feel heat rising up in my body as I talk to her on the phone. It is so hard to admit to needing help.
Iâ€™ve been so damn independent my whole life, and always, I was that girl who everyone else came to when they had problems. Itâ€™s hard to be in the passenger seat now, fumbling for words, for tools, for anything to give context to this new vantage point.
I stand at the backdoor watching the rain fall in dark splotches on the smooth slate threshold. The sky is the color of crushed violets and ashes. I put on my boots and go for a walk.