Sitting still is the hardest. When I’m anxious or sad,
staying in one place is torturous. I need to move. To change positions and
scenery. If I change my stance or the way I’m sitting, if I change where I am,
then maybe I can shift the feelings that are haunting me.
Vacation—despite the ever-present oppression of family—was,
nevertheless, soothing; a much-needed distraction from day-to-day difficulties
to which we have returned.
Years ago, I numbed myself to psychic pain. I ate. I drank.
I watched a lot of television. Gradually, I woke up and saw that I was actually
creating more pain for myself. I started swimming. Then running. That was 30
years ago. The growth wasn’t all linear. It came in fits and starts.
Marrying F. steadied me. Being loved well eliminated extraneous
hunger and angst. Since then, I have learned healthier ways of channeling frustration
and pain. I’ve come to see them as inevitabilities of living, not as
indictments of who I am.
It takes a long time to get steady one’s self. And it’s not
fool-proof. Anger and fear and grief still have the power to knock me over. But
at least now, I have a better idea of how to get back on my feet.
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