This is the 5th time I’ve gone into the kitchen in the last 10 minutes. I get there and don’t know why. I come back, settle on the couch. Feel compelled to go back into the kitchen. Even as I type I know there is something I wanted to do out there. I want to go back again. But I know, for the moment it’s lost, like I am at the moment. And maybe just writing will settle me down, pull my mind back into the moment.
I’m tired, listless, fractured. Checked 5x this a.m. to see if I took my meds. I had, but it took a few more times of checking to satisfy my mind, my very restless mind stuck in a listless body.
I don’t like days like today. Where getting dressed is procrastinated until there’s a knock at the door, hurriedly putting on what I’d left on the floor the night before. Of knowing I might sleep in these clothes and wear them again tomorrow. Like I did as a kid, hating to get up and dressed for school in the dark, cold of a Michigan winter. PJ’s, Catholic school uniform layered on top of them. I know I wasn’t alone doing that, cuz most frigid days the boys had pj bottoms hanging out below their trousers.
But it’s not winter, I am not 7. In fact, it’s a beautiful summer day with soft breezes blowing, grass dappled with shadow and light. I’ve tried to go outside a number of times, but no cooperation coming from my head nor my body.
I hate how my will cannot take control over my mind and body. That no order I demand is even acknowledged. And, as I close this, I know I will have to go back into the kitchen again, scanning everything, trying to settle my FTD brain down.
Love, Vicki & Scarecrow