I am an adult, middle aged woman. I am an artist. I have a dream job in radio. I have an adorable little dog who eats most things he shouldn't but is forgiven immediately. I have some incredible friends. I have a ton of dishes to serve up tasty food, which I love to prepare for you. I have fought my way back from being paralyzed. I have walked away from many things that tried to own my soul. I have been a figure skater, a process server, a police dispatcher, a karate dojo administrator, a musician. I have run a successful import business. I am an organizer and a loyal friend. A life coach (seems odd) to help others light their way. I am an event planner, and in the midst of putting together an international fine art photography show. Until last Monday, my feet rarely touched the ground...I was that high on my life and blessings and the direction it was all taking me.
I feel numb.
No, numb is wrong. I think I hurt in ways so deep that it doesn't have sensation that can be named. A knife so sharp, you don't know you've been cut. A cruelty so hurtful it defies even asking why the particular timing.
It is Christmas and I am dreading dreading the day. Even more so, dreading New Year's Eve. I don't know my way down this dark path...don't know how to act or move about. Tonight I accidentally went to hug my husband, out of reflex, while walking past him in a narrow hallway by the washer & dryer. He recoiled. I don't know my way through this. I notice some friends taking a step back. I try to be more than this circumstance. I'm not sure how. I'm afraid I'll have a panic attack while I'm on the air. I hate that every sentence starts with "I" because I feel like I've tucked into myself already, like an armadillo tucks in to keep only his hard shell available to an assailant. I need a Xanax and a map. And my fucking wings.