I keep thinking that tomorrow will be a better day. That I will wake up and this gnawing beast in my heart will be quieter in his chewing, that my thoughts will be more placid, more in tune with the cool, sweet air, the light which pours over everything, unhindered by the leaves of the pecan which are on the ground now leaving the limbs bare and unable to block the outpouring of the sun's affection.
I have moments of epiphany where I tell myself to let things pass through me, these thoughts, these worries, these jagged bits of unbased fear, just let them in and show them the way out, leaving me untouched and fine, tell myself to breathe in and breathe out, just so.
I slept so many hours last night and here I am again, using sleep as a drug and as a drug, it works well. But the time comes when you have to get up, no matter. You have to. There is no more sleep in you for that time.
Eating is becoming a problem. I don't care for it. And if I don't want to eat, I don't want to cook either. Thanksgiving is coming up and god knows I have plenty to be thankful for, not the least is which I am quite certain that in a day or two I will wake up and these feelings will be calmed. I know that.
Well, until then, one goes on. There is a walk to be taken, there are nests in the hen house to clean out. There is a house to clean, a birthday party to go to. There are lines to begin learning. I started marking my lines last night and I am wondering at Jack and Jan's sanity in assigning me a part which has so many of them. Truvy is in almost every scene, offering a line here and a line there. I think I am going to love Truvy and I can't wait until I can embrace her fully and take her into myself, giving her back out onstage. Dr. Stage, the real actors call it. You may puke before you walk onto it, but once there, you are healed. I am hoping for the best. I am going to do my best but that doesn't mean I am not scared to death.
Scared to death. I remember when depression danced with me by itself and as ridiculous as this sounds, I wish it were still so. Why did it decide to bring a new dancer with it? This anxiety? I knew the dance before, the steps. I did not like the dance, but it was familiar. Now, two years after this new partner has shown up, I am still confused and clumsy. I am wishing they would grasp each other- depression and anxiety- and forget about me in their dancing, go off together and leave me be, but no, they have formed some sort of crazy bond and decided that I am a perfect hostess for their goings-on.
It will pass. It will pass. It will pass.
It is a beautiful morning. I am not lying. It is.