Wish Me Will Power

Really, naming it was half the battle.

About a week and a half ago I had an acupuncture appointment. As usual, it helped tremendously, but—like a massage that feels powerful but can open up deeper tenderness that needs more work—I could tell I needed more. In the case of a massage, I’ve never indulged after an appointment and made that second one that my body yearned for. Too extravagant, I might have told myself. Not necessary! But in the case of acupuncture, this time around at least, I took the plunge. I called her back and made an appointment for three days later.

As I suspected, it was the second treatment that opened everything up for me.

I laid it out for her: “I’m depressed and I have been for at least two months. A heavy depression, that feels like sandbags. And I haven’t been myself since the start of the year. All my addictive tendencies are heightened and I can’t seem to eat enough food (which means I’m eating too much).”

She gave me a special treatment, an arrangement of needles unlike anything I’d had before (including two in my eyelids) and sent me on my way.

The next day I woke up feeling more like myself than I have in months. That was last Wednesday. Thankfully, the feeling hasn’t waned terribly. Not that we can grasp onto such states or claim them as our own, but I must admit, it feels good to be back in my own body again.

Today, when I returned from the meditation retreat and unpacked, it became immediately clear to me that I needed to start deep cleaning the house one room at a time. Call it optimistic spring cleaning. It’s a re-ordering of the spatial palate, I suppose, and something I’m doing with the intention of freshening up my perspective on the page. I have three days until my next packet is due. Can I write new material between now and then? Can I continue to fend off the voices of doubt that are hacking away at my notion of a thesis?

Time will tell.