Wednesday, December 5, 2007


I am hyper-reactive...I know this. Prone to panics, to fits of pique, to fly off the handle and to want to crush you like a bug if you cross me or one I love. That character flaw is why I'm so driven to maintain stability.

Why even when I was porking up on prozac and gorging on butter and cream I didn't care, because I felt even. Because the jackhammer heart slowed; the vomitting stopped; the urticaria stopped.

Tonight, driving to work, for the first time in years, I felt that out-of-control, beyond-my-control, instability. The roads were wretched, a good 1/2 inch of ice, frosted with snow. No sign of center line. Uneven and rutty. Truly, truly, wretched. I never went above 30 mph and tried to touch my brake as little as possible. By the time I got to work and turned off the ignition, my hands shook in that old panic attack way. Almost like palsy. The body resisting its own stability. All I could do was sit until it passed. I made a quick call to let folks know I made it safely. I let the cold seep in.

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