A heart attack
I don't know what's been happening; I don't know if it's because of my recent non-compliance, or if the Clomid is feeding genetically altered crack to the hormonal monster inside , or if it's because of this weather...
[I read on some blog the other day: "I'm feeling like I am in a Bradbury story, where it's always raining, and I'm trappped in the closet when the sun comes." I thought, WHY didn't I think of it first... it's perfect. That's exactly how it is when summer solstice is shrouded in wet gray, and there is no end in sight.]
So, I don't know why, but I've been feeling these old sensations... Like, anger so intense that I can't feel my legs. Anxiety that makes my heartbeat agitate my eardrums and soaks me in cold sweats. Road rage. The familiar hourly night time dates with the bedside clock: it's 11. It's 12. It's 1. Still awake... Ceiling. Blanket.
And pains in my chest on a nightly basis relieved only by a good cry, the kind where you cover your face.
I was driving home today, and rain was falling and falling in a nasty passive aggressive drizzle, mugging up the windshield, drumming out some sort of dreary rhythm. My mood started darkening to match the sky. And I started thinking about the nature of heartbreak.
It's a vague term. The condition has multiple clinical features that express themselves so diversely that presentation is largely unpredictable. Available treatments are anectodal and are hardly proven to be effective. And, of course, time to recovery is highly variable.
I thought of all the times in my life I could describe myself as having experienced true heartbreak - amazingly, despite perpetual difficulties and daily crises, actual breaking of heart only happened once or twice. A shattering once or twice, of course, each on a different scale, the scale calibrated to measure that period in my life. I even cruelly tested myself by trying to think about those times to see if I'd induce an emotional state. I found that old wounds can linger a long long time. Buried and scabbed, but pick at them, and they will bleed.
So my question is. What measures can you take to stop yourself from compulsively picking at scabs?
[I read on some blog the other day: "I'm feeling like I am in a Bradbury story, where it's always raining, and I'm trappped in the closet when the sun comes." I thought, WHY didn't I think of it first... it's perfect. That's exactly how it is when summer solstice is shrouded in wet gray, and there is no end in sight.]
So, I don't know why, but I've been feeling these old sensations... Like, anger so intense that I can't feel my legs. Anxiety that makes my heartbeat agitate my eardrums and soaks me in cold sweats. Road rage. The familiar hourly night time dates with the bedside clock: it's 11. It's 12. It's 1. Still awake... Ceiling. Blanket.
And pains in my chest on a nightly basis relieved only by a good cry, the kind where you cover your face.
I was driving home today, and rain was falling and falling in a nasty passive aggressive drizzle, mugging up the windshield, drumming out some sort of dreary rhythm. My mood started darkening to match the sky. And I started thinking about the nature of heartbreak.
It's a vague term. The condition has multiple clinical features that express themselves so diversely that presentation is largely unpredictable. Available treatments are anectodal and are hardly proven to be effective. And, of course, time to recovery is highly variable.
I thought of all the times in my life I could describe myself as having experienced true heartbreak - amazingly, despite perpetual difficulties and daily crises, actual breaking of heart only happened once or twice. A shattering once or twice, of course, each on a different scale, the scale calibrated to measure that period in my life. I even cruelly tested myself by trying to think about those times to see if I'd induce an emotional state. I found that old wounds can linger a long long time. Buried and scabbed, but pick at them, and they will bleed.
So my question is. What measures can you take to stop yourself from compulsively picking at scabs?
Comments