I’m making a valiant effort to return to “normal” with a late-night post, even though my routine is still greatly upset and I can’t possibly put together any coherent writing about the last few days of my life. I’m almost certain my thoughts will start to gel over the next week as I begin to unwind from this (let’s call it traumatic) experience.
My family came to visit. I love them, and I can’t wait for them to get the hell out of my space.
I’m all drugged up. My belly is swollen and uncomfortable, and I have a post-sugar lethargic feeling. My brain is churning as it tries to process family dysfunction and sort out my feelings and lessons about parenting, my own childhood, and relationships. What a mess in there.
No running. No gym workouts. No eating healthfully. No writing. It’s been a little bit of hell, although I have had some positive moments among the flames.
And they all want to know when I’m going out to Indiana to visit this summer. I think I’ve had enough for one year, but it’s not them – it’s me. I’m the one stressing. I’m the one who’s uncomfortable and doesn’t want to stay. I’m the one whose brain is going 80 miles an hour down Memory Lane and whose world is rocking with old stories that remind me why I left in the first place.
Tomorrow, I am going to reclaim my relatively peaceful life. I envision a morning run, a smiling workout at the gym with my Coach, and some better food choices. I look forward to a weekend of solitude when I can collect myself and tame those spinning thoughts.
I look forward to writing and to learning from this uncomfortable experience. But mostly, I look forward to being Me again.