A resting place when feeling ill during a training walk last week.
Even after 20 years of living with chronic Lyme disease, I can tell that something’s not right. Symptoms are not lessening like they should have, after I drastically reduced my work load by leaving my private chef position in February and adopting a much gentler lifestyle. And new ones have returned from dormancy, which Muffin reminds me existed years ago and were signals that I was entering another period of active Lyme that needed serious treatment.
I’m not jumping to the conclusion that I’m on that path now.
But something’s off. And because of that, my defenses are down.
Last week was particularly rough, and I got to a point where I felt very vulnerable, and scared, and anxious. It was a physical feeling, and for days I was in a cloud, and shaky, and extremely low. And so I kept breathing, kept working through the brain fogs and shakes, and tried some shadier methods to get everything back on track, to no avail.
So I sat to meditate – my unquestionable source of calm amongst any storm.
And as I sat, breathing slowly, calming my mind, things got worse. Instead of feeling more in control, I felt extremely more exposed. Things I had never worried about before flooded my chest. I was petrified. I talked (out loud) through that fear: “I’m going to stop doing this now, and turn on the lights, and read in bed until I fall asleep, okay, whatever’s out there?” And that’s what I did. It was very creepy. I wouldn’t have been the bit surprised if all my electronics turned on automatically and Mitra’s head spun in a 360.
So, what do you do when you can’t separate your mind from the sensations of your body? Continue reading