The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe

As a valiant effort not to become addicted to Ativan, at my own and at Carol’s urging, I dropped two Tylenol Nighttime caplets this evening. It’s not that I don’t thoroughly enjoy my little Ativan trips. In fact, it’s that I DO enjoy them. The last thing I need is to become addicted to prescription drugs. I’d have more dignity if I became a crack-addicted whore. So, as an experiment, I’m giving the over-the-counter breed of drugs a go. We’ll see what happ...zzzzzzzzzz. Nah, just kidding.

I’m scared. That truly sums up my feelings. In his book, A Grief Observed (though I have not yet read it), C.S. Lewis mentions something to the effect that he never knew grief could feel so much like fear. He goes on to clarify that it’s not that he feels fear for his own life or even for his personal safety, but fear as a feeling; the quickened heartbeat, the shortness of breath and the restlessness. I’m so glad I learned of this statement from someone who has read this book, which I am going to buy very shortly. It somehow validates my own feelings of fear.

I began packing my stuff up for the big move on July 30. It’s going to be a good and a necessary move for me. I’m so afraid of leaving Chris behind. I’m so afraid of looking around and seeing only my own things. I’m scared of everything being right where I left it. I’m afraid of Chris never laying eyes on my new apartment. It should have been our apartment. Enough of that, though. That’s simply not helpful.

The butterflies are here tonight. They nest in the hollow of my belly. I can’t relax. In fact, I relaxed for the first time in years the other night at my voice lesson. It was all that breathing. Imagine that. Breathing. I didn’t know I could still do that.

I’m supposed to write a division/classification essay tonight. It’s due tomorrow night. I’d better get to it.