Overshooting the runway

These pills. This new year. This motivation to dump out the garbage and waste from a lifetime of dumb choices.

I found a knitting project I had started *who knows when* and finished it in 2 days. Where the fuck is all this energy hiding when I'm sick?

I say "overshooting the runway" because it reminds me of a story my colleague told about flying a plane that was so powerful it was hard to slow down in time for the landing. I feel like my brain is on turbo and the rest of me is trying to keep up. I did a 9 minute workout at home the other day because it was too dark and cold to hike. But a minute after my 9 minute workout I was out the door bounding toward the park like a dog whose owners left the gate open.

I missed one pill this week and, maybe coincidentally, was tired and unmotivated to exercise. And I still walked to and from work. Twice. I like this new baseline, and I hope it helps me get to my goal of being in better shape when April comes around. By summer I want to look and feel like I did when I turned 40, which is something I never thought I'd say.

Upswing

A badly bruised elbow on Christmas Eve took me right over the edge that I had been teetering on for months. I spewed anger and pain on a day that is supposed to be sacred. I tried to hang on to the thread of hope that trailed down from an orange sun, and I felt a twinge of something after a chance meeting with a Santa Claus impersonator on my street. Those glimmers burned out in the instant they caught fire, and I was left on that first morning after the holiday with a pile of emotional ashes to sort out.

In the waiting room I watched the minutes tick by. I took comfort in relaxing my face, and in knowing that this was a place where there was no benefit in acting strong. I was there to bring attention to my pain. I would be paying someone to assess my level of injury. Two hours into this venture I was told there was nothing they could do. And as the doctor walked out the door I conjured the strength to say I had just one more question. I asked if she could give me some antidepressants.

I had just watched a comedy where someone was slowly succumbing to seasonal depression, taking what little comfort she could from a SAD lamp. First I thought of my mom and the giant electric sun that takes up residence on her dresser, without which she says she would never be able to get out of bed. Then I saw the real humor, and tragedy, of the sketch. I was that character, fighting the same demon using the weapons that had worked in the past and coming up empty.

It was one thing to go to battle with the demon when I was young and had something to prove. But I have spent the last couple of years coming to terms with my limitations. I needed to accept that, in the urgent care waiting room, as well as in general, there is no benefit to trying to appear strong. Some things are bigger than me.

It's day 9. Split the pills in half because my gut couldn't handle the sudden change. My eyes look different. I'm focusing more. The sky seems brighter. Goals seem more attainable. Time seems kinder. Strangers seem less threatening. In 6 months I'll be questioning why I need chemicals to feel the way most people do naturally. I hope I let that question drift past and give myself permission to simply feel okay.