wake my face up!

This morning I reclined in a barcalounger with six needles stuck in my face. Strange. It got even more interesting when another needle went into the cuticle of my right thumbnail. Yikes.

I've been getting acupuncture treatments for about six weeks, and I have to say, they are helping. If nothing else it is two hours a week to relax, close my eyes, and listen to some nice harp music. Often it's me and the senior citizens in there; they are lovely, managing many more health problems than I, and offer a good reminder of how to suffer with dignity. Best part: fifteen dollar treatments.

Back in September I began to research antidepressant drugs. Most days I was functioning--but I was on edge, feeling like the bottom could drop out any second. I was having panic attacks. I was having hours when I couldn't get off the computer or away from the tv. Normal babyloss stuff, to be sure.

But things were shiny sometimes. Do you know what I mean? Moments when I felt black as tar, while everyone and everything around me had bright, pre-migraine auras. I had to squint against the brightness from my black place.

That seemed like more than sadness. That seemed like my endocrine system was taking a dive. So I looked into the antidepressants; but we want to start trying again soon which complicates matters somewhat. Also Brian has some stuff in his past that makes him hesitant in the arena of mood altering drugs. So we decided to try this first: acupuncture, progesterone pills, and volunteer work at a horse farm.

So far, so good. I no longer feel like the bottom is going to drop out. Instead I feel like I am sitting cross-legged at the edge of the abyss, waiting to greet whichever flame or dragon roars up from its depths to tower over me today. Sometimes I creep closer to the edge and peer over to see what is going on down there. A lot. But it's not in my face every moment. The grief sits on my shoulders as an accustomed weight while I focus on other things: keeping my appointments, putting something in the slow cooker for dinner, writing my novel.

Interesting side effect, though: the anger phase is back. Yippee. I am terrible with this emotion; it is absolutely my worst one to manage. I do it all wrong. I've already had a couple of incredibly stupid outbursts at Brian.

What should I do with my rage at the absence of a 4 month old baby girl? Throw my furniture out my bedroom window? Set fire to restaurants? Dismantle cars? Smash trees?. Anyone have any calmer, more productive and less felonious suggestions?

I wouldn't do those things, of course. But I can feel the trembling urge to do them growing inside me. That urge is interfering with my sleep. Making me cranky.

On the other hand, feeling anger is better than feeling despair. It is better than the black tar of giving up. Anger fights rather than lays down and dies. I guess there's some fight left in me. Somehow the needles and the fresh air and the hormonal control have stopped my free fall and put some cushion under my step. Can I float like a butterfly, sting like a bee? Somebody hold the Universe's arms back while I punch it in the gut.

Today's needles were not for anger or grief or my uterus or gallbladder or anything very interesting. It was for my sinuses--even the cuticle needle. I've been sick with headcolds for a couple of weeks, which I'm sure contributes to my crankiness. After today's session I have less sinus pain and my face feels - awake! (Nothing like needles in the cheeks to start the morning right.)

Awake face is good. Awake anger is good. Because I'm supposed to be writing my novel right now. I'm behind. And I'm in the middle. With an eight hour window to catch up today. So I'm going to need some fight and some caffeine. Please send happy productive writing vibes my way if you get a chance. Also to Ines and Karen, please.