An Empty Shell of Me

So I’m getting over the flu, and pretty depressed. I think the trauma anniversary of Zo’s birth did something; set me off somehow. Triggered me. Maybe it was worse this year because of so recently fearing for my life again.

Then last night my head started to hurt, and one of my hoarded imitrex didn’t work. I got upset and afraid I’d have to miss the cake part of Isobel’s celebration, but I made it downstairs for that.

Came back to bed pretty much right afterward.

This morning my head still hurt, though the depression had lifted somewhat. John took the girls to their theatre workshop and picked them up. I hunkered down and desperately tried to sleep, escaping both pain and the sadness that was reasserting itself. I did nap a bit, woke up and the headache was worse. I sent my friend who works at the hospital a text, and she told me my favorite doctor was working. I tried to wait it out. Talked to my mom for advice.

Hearing the girls’ laughter downstairs recalled the Fiona Apple lyric “And there’s too much going on / But it’s calm under the waves / in the blue of my oblivion” as well as the gorgeous accompanying piano. I mentally murmured it to myself like a mantra.

I am not a cocooning caterpillar, I am a dolphin. A mermaid.

Liz Phair sang in her song “Headache” I can feel the Russian army moving through my head / On one side of me lies the enemy, the other half is dead.

I am a melancholy, drifting mermaid, bedded in soft seaweed, one side of whose head has inexplicably been invaded by a tiny (but loud, and armed with harpoons) Russian navy.

The other half… dead.

Hey Mister, won’t you comfort me, I’m a psychosomatic sister running around without a leash…

They don’t know that I used to sail the deep and tranquil sea.

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