In two weeks’ time, I have planted my vegetable garden out back. I have found unwelcome visitors in my cannabis plants inside and hopefully dealt with them. I set up my greenhouse with tomatoes, cucumbers and Pineapple Express. I have stopped thinking about someone my every waking moment. I quit my addiction to Facebook. I started taking Bupropion. So I ought to feel accomplished, right? Well, kinda.
I feel “kinda”. I’m about to go on a trip to see my mom and brothers in Seattle. Okay. Anxiety at the thought of being in a huge city? Meh. The joy I felt as I tended my medicinal plants? Chores. Smoke a bowl of my own grown sweetleaf? Maybe later. This is not me. I’m starting to suspect that this antidepressant the VA has me taking is squelching my inner fire. I did say I’d try it for a few months, and it’s only been a couple of weeks. But if this feeling or lack of feeling is what being on an even keel is supposed to be, I think I’ll have to wean myself off of it when this prescription expires, which is a 90 day supply. That way, I’ll have given it a fair shake. Right? I’d rather have a bit of the ol’ anxiety and feel my feels, than not. Because it’s gone. My spark. My mojo. My muse. I feel like I’ve broken up with my inspiration.
I just had a sudden memory from last night’s dreaming, about Robert and I driving around in a variety of vehicles and in all kinds of weather. Two instances stand out in my recollection most prominently, and I was at the wheel in both with Robert as a passenger. At one point, it was night and I was driving in snow and icy slush and came to a steep downhill. We lost traction but I was able to slow the car (probably a ’79 Chrysler Newport) and keep her straight. Slowed but not stopped and still had enough speed to slip through the intersection at the bottom of the hill, so I ran a red light. Going up the hill on the other side of the light was slow but we had traction all the way up, or as long as I can remember. Dreams for me generally flash about. There are usually never any smooth transitions between scenes. So the next thing I remember, there were boulders and mud which requires proper wheel placement and an acute awareness of the vehicle’s balance, which was a type of Jeep (probably a Willy’s) that Robert had been driving, but I was to get over this latest obstacle. There was a bit of a hump to the pile, like there had been a rock slide over the road, and I picked our way up carefully, not wanting to slide backwards. Reaching the crest, though, I gauged a more general route down, bumping and bouncing but making it to smoother dirt below. The other parts of the dream had some heavier traffic and my husband was driving and there were some parking issues outside of a bar or something, just muddled up dreamy time stuff. 🙂
It starts small. A look, a gaze. A similar understanding.
But how do you stop it?
How do you control the opening of your heart?
My therapist suggests that I lack good boundaries. I imagine this is true.
After some months of struggling, a confession.
My husband praises my honesty as I stab my own heart and gouge out my eyes and set fire to a sacred friendship.
How do you fix it?
How do you find your way back?
Even now, my husband sleeps in the next room while I desperately try to find a resolution.
There is none.