Kimberly L. Wright

It’s been a grim November so far. I’ve had trouble keeping it together, this gossamer it that I cup in my hands, quite broken.

There’s no lack of duties I must accomplish, but I do it all with queasiness in the pit of my stomach, with exhaustion, a sense of dread and disappointment.

I’ve started meditating daily, and I’m trying very hard not to clench my teeth. When I find myself doing it, I make the conscious effort to relax, open, think it loose.

The only way I can sleep is to monitor my breaths because there a storm behind my eyes and I get really warm and shaky. I breathe in for four counts and out for six. I keep doing it until I calm down. Nothing else works. Melatonin didn’t help the last time I took it.

My ribs hurt. My appetite comes in fits and starts, but I’m not able to eat much.

I have vegetables in the crisper waiting for my desire for food to return. Hopefully I’ll be able to enjoy them before they rot.

Anxiety and I go way back. I remember being a child and the feeling I’d get when my parents would argue. That feeling has clung to me like a shroud.