So I watched 'Dorian Gray' last night. It was a good enough movie, but a horrible depiction of corrupted innocence, and there was a lot of sexual violence and degradation. Long story short, it gave me nightmares. I'm still shaking off the lingering discomfort, and avoiding bed. Yay for passionflower. I take it in tincture form when I get serious anxiety like this, and it works better than ativan ever did.

So the first thought I have is that normal people must not have nights like this. How nice it might be to be normal. The thought that follows is...well, I'd rather be me, actually. If this is part of the price for all the other things I am, I guess I'll pay it. I still struggle with a sort of blurry picture of 'should-be'. I'm never totally sure what I should-be, but I have a lingering certainty that I'm not it.

Screw should-be. Should-be is a lie, and a cruelty to myself. I can only be as I am, from day to day. Lots of days are better than today was, I know I'm more emotional than usual because I'm tired, and I know it will pass. I don't like how my left side feels when I'm overtired, I get a tingly sort of numbness on my left arm and up the side of my throat. It feels almost like pressure, and it winds my anxiety even tighter.

I wonder how recovered I'll ever be from that childhood of mine. It was a long time ago now, nearly thirty years. I've come a long way, but sometimes it still jumps up and snags me, drags me down and back. When it does, I fall back on my most basic of tools. I breathe, and I say 'I let this go'. It's part prayer, part assertion, part demand. I say it until it's true. When the next thing comes, I'll let that go, too.