in medias res
I am jumping into the middle. Of boxes, and photos, and books, and the narrative. There's no backstory here, yet.
3 details:
I'm out of medication.
I'm watching TV for teenagers.
I move in three days.
I suppose even admitting that I sometimes-- occasionally, for a few months at a time, when I notice myself hibernating for too many days under a blanket watching awful television or anticipating my immediate and tragic death upon walking up the stairs-- take mood meds to help my brain relax its hypervigilance, marks a sort of infinitesimal personal growth.
And this week, with my (relatively young) parents showing evidence of their slow slide into chronic illness and the chaos of entering a new job/new city/new house/ new car/ new insurance/ new community, I feel the rattling in my body signaling the return of Anxiety. I have to capitalize it, because when it returns, it takes over everything.
So until I get a new doctor and a new therapist and some money, I will leave it to beautiful teenagers in beautiful clothing solving a beautifully ridiculous who-done-it to give me some escape. I'll work on dealing with the hard stuff later.
Later.
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