On Friday, I left work early (but not as early as my husband M would have liked--I had a meeting that ran an hour late) so we could pack and head up the mountain. We got on the road before 6:30. Apparently, that is about the time that a hay truck caught on fire, so I-17 was closed and there was no way around. So we were delayed an hour and half or more. M even took the dogs out to potty while we were parked on the freeway. Once we got past that, our drive to Flagstaff was pretty uneventful.
We were at the RSVC hunting test on Saturday. There was controlled burning so it was very smoky driving into the area, but it cleared up after a couple hours. I walked the dogs down a wildlife trail for some exercise, but they also got to run in the field later. We went to dinner with some of the club members. One of them wanted to discuss my MS. La Fonda was awesome and everyone seemed to like it. Although I had 2 margaritas, I had a beer when we got back to the room while I was reading.
Sunday was beautiful. I took the dogs for another walk. I was annoyed later by a lady with a puppy; she was unaware that not all dogs like puppies. We didn't have a problem but another dog snapped at the puppy, and then she still wasn't paying attention so I was rude and told her that if she was paying attention to her puppy, maybe it wouldn't be eating cow shit. As the day progressed, I went to the porta potty several times to make a deposit. I was feeling less well but trying to do all my coping techniques. M drove out of the area and we switched just before we hit the downpour. Since the truck was super dirty, it was a nice nature-made car wash. By the time I was driving down the mountain, I knew the pain was going to get worse and there wasn't really anything I could do about it.
As we got close to Phoenix, I saw a sign that the 101 was closed westbound, so I thought I'd have to go to I-10. And then I saw it. The exit for the 303. And I took it. And I saw 3 cars for the whole section going west. Traffic picked up on the southbound section, but it was a great detour for us. We were excited to find this route.
Unfortunately, when we got home, I was in a lot of pain. It came and went like it does so I helped unpack and get laundry started and cleaned the laundry room (where we had enclosed Jill so she wouldn't make messes throughout the house). And then I gave in.
And then all day today, it was more pain. Okay, it came and went, but when it came, it really wanted my attention. I was crying and barely able to walk and in the bathroom, unable to pee, and just generally miserable. The last hour of the day, a coworker noticed and the sympathy got me crying. But when I was alone again, I was what I think of as depressed, for me. I don't "get" suicide, but I certainly "wish I was dead" sometimes. But more than that, I'm pissed off. I'm mad. I'm angry at my body.
Anyway, I made it home and remained in pain until late. So I was completely unproductive. Well, I did some reading, but otherwise, I did nothing on my list. And I ran across this article that caught my eye a while ago. The author says:
At my first session, after I’ve wept for an hour, my new therapist startles me with this pronouncement: “Depression is anger turned inward.” Later, a recently divorced girlfriend shares with me a quote by Eric Hoffer: “Anger is the prelude to courage.” I write this down in my journal and look at it, frequently. It strengthens something inside me, bit by bit.
Nhat Hanh explains that the mother holds the baby not only to comfort him but to divine the source of his pain. That, too, is our job when we experience anger: to hold ourselves and know where we’re hurt.
So I do what the PT instructed: be still; listen. But I only hear pain.
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