moving, forward

If I were in closer contact with more people, if just a few people who knew me well actually got to see me, they'd know something was up. But in this virtual reality, things often boil down to presence and absence, and I have been decidedly absent for quite a while. Some of it is my self-imposed internet weaning. I spend less time online, mainly as a way to try to be more present in real-time, real-life. And the quest for presence has been a quest to try to feel again, because at some point, likely this summer, I drifted away and I haven't made it back.

Unearthing and stirring the murk has been, for the most part, an unpleasant experience for me. Yes, I am engaged in and committed to the process, but it's opened a can of Whoopass Deluxe, and rendered me not-so-fun(ctional). There are, no doubt, a multitude of DSM-III codes that could be pinned to me at this point in time, covering my eyes like post-its made of duct-tape. And maybe those namings give me some breathing room, some understanding as to why I've put on weight and can't seem to care (other than in a self-flagellating fashion), why I've become so isolated, why I've lost interest in most of what I once loved, why there isn't much that can rouse me these days.

It's my hope that 3 weeks out of context, in a country where I (for the most part) don't speak the language(s), will give me a little more room to breathe.

It's a giant exhale I'm looking for- one that can't really be complete until mid-January, after I get my 6-month follow-up MRI, after I feel like I can let go of this job that hurts.

And then I hope for the breath in, the great stepping off into some unknown, not with fear, but curiosity and maybe a shred of confidence, wonder, joy, even...