Slope

If psyches were objects, mine would be looking a bit worse for wear. It's as if the darkest of thoughts and frightening of worries had been forced into a corner and tucked behind something pretty. Safely contained, I'm able to function. I roll out of bed and arrive at work, making any number of decisions and talking to all kinds of people. I can battle the random escaped thought - there are several beautiful, strong, capable women at work who have remained single at ages greater than my own. People - men and women - seem to enjoy my company and not find me unbearably neurotic.

I knew I was vulnerable. I acknowledged that the 40 minutes I anticipated spending at the doctors was likely to destroy the shaky control I had over the worst of my insecurities and, once free, I'd suffocate under them for a while. I find myself astonished that I'm incapable of telling you of the events that led me here. There were a rather interesting series of choices I made, each of which was brought into sharp focus by a specific moment - a question or expression or event - yesterday.

By the end, the urge to hide was unbearable. Hurrying to my car, five business cards containing names of referrals clutched in a trembling hand, I sighed with a measure of relief once enclosed in the vehicle. There were physical sensations - the growing headache at my temples, the heaviness in my chest - paired with the familiar emotions. Pathetic and afraid, I told myself today would be better. That I would answer my phone again. I would leave the house and go to work.

Upon waking, I knew I would not. Even answering the simplest of questions on phone calls I couldn't avoid was agony. I couldn't lose myself in work, the pressure of a depression I'd done little to prevent a sharp distraction. I spent most of the day in bed, listlessly watching pictures move across the television screen while huddled in a nest of soft pillows and fluffy blankets. I closed the blinds, loathe to let anyone see in and, for once, not even caring to see out.

Tomorrow, I promised when yet another friend called to check on me, I'll come in. I will try to talk to her. I forced myself to pick up the phone and speak to my parents, but failed at making my voice sound normal. I clipped a leash on Chienne's collar and squared my shoulders before stepping outside in the sunshine I'd wanted to avoid. I did feel better in the fresh air, nodding at neighbors until they started to grate on my nerves. Lured by the glimmer of light on water, I walked down a hill and through the park, ducking under and around branches as we made our way to the river.

Inclines are tough, I decided, having walked down several of them to stand and watch the water. I have simply let myself slip downward, unwilling or unable to dig in my heels or search for a place to grip as my mood grew increasingly poor. Now, finding myself in a bit of a hole, I'm stuck with the task of climbing out.

I stood there until I shivered, glancing at the sun as it dipped lower in the sky. Chienne had grown bored so I wandered over and untangled her leash before starting the slow climb toward home.