Inflatable thing

I lay in the darkness this morning and felt myself sinking under the waves, felt myself going under, had to fight my way back to the surface, trying to find breath, trying to breathe without the feeling of a thousand tiny knives. It came out of nowhere, and yet was so enticingly familiar, the sinking, the awareness of darkness closing in, the long sad weariness with myself, inviting me to relax into it, like I was an inflatable thing with a slow leak and suddenly, with no warning, I was empty of light and air. 

Mom, have you gone back to therapy after surgery yet?

No, I feel like I have nothing to talk about. 

Well, don’t wait till you’re in crisis. The real work happens when you’re not just trying to stem the bleeding. 

I reached for my phone in the dark and messaged my therapist that I was ready to start back, Mondays were still good and could I schedule an appointment. I put the phone down and concentrated on trying to breathe. 

What tipped me over? It might seem like the shallowest thing. Mere vanity even. My hair. I hadn’t had it cut since before my surgery. It grew willy nilly, curls popping out, refusing to be tucked in, except the top , which got straight and thin and wispy the longer it grew, only being tamed with curling foam that laid it down. I took the scissors to the rest, snipping off wayward coils to achieve a uniform shape, till the whole thing was wildly uneven. The woman I trust to cut and color this head full of different textures isn’t back in town till late April. I decided I couldn’t wait. I went to someone else yesterday for a repair job. It was a disaster. I’m scalped at the back and sides yet the top is still too long. She didn’t understand that the back and sides lie flat against my head when its too short and the top doesn’t curl till it’s shorter. So now I look even crazier. And I had her color it too because I was tired of the gray, but she went too dark so now I look wan and jaundiced against my patchy too dark hair with scalp peeking out all over. I look as if I just underwent a fairly aggressive round of chemo, which is to say when people see me, they're going to ask with concern, "Are you okayy??" 

It’s hard enough being inside this body on a good day. It’s harder after several weeks of poor sleep because I have to lie on my back because the hip is still healing inside, and sleeping on my back is uncomfortable as hell, my whole body aches by morning (except the hip) and I know, I know, I have no good reason to feel so low, I have so many blessings in my life, I know I do, but I get so tired of myself sometimes, I have a hard enough time showing up in the world, and this new scalped chic was just about the last straw. 

Every time I think I might stop writing here because this crazy world, I realize I’m literally insane and I need to write out my insanity and this place is therapy and don’t mind me I’m just here trying to keep on.  

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The kids are in Paris for her birthday. Here they are inside the Louvre. She’s walking fine on her braced ankle. They look like art themselves. See? Blessings.