B E B E R E

The first indications that something was wrong became apparent when I was in undergrad: I would enter a dreamlike state and be unable to read signs, advertisements, etc. Sometimes this would culminate in a dead faint; at other times, I'd either throw up or start hyperventilating. It got so bad that I had to stop taking the train to get anywhere. Though I've no problem with the T now, I still like to arrange my life around walking.

In music, it didn't even matter that I'd had a body memory of the piece I was playing - I'd sit down in front of my instrument and watch the notes go cascading down the staff into a pile on the lower corner of the page. Then my fingers would turn to rubber and I'd get the chills. I went from performance to academic in order to accommodate this and haven't sung or played a note in public in years.

This time around, though not as severe, the language thing is giving me a run for my money. Sometimes, when I'm at the therapist, I'll drift between languages like a sleepy motorist drifts from lane to lane. Sometimes I'll just start crying, as I can't find the right words to explain to wrap around, to sketch out how I'm feeling. Documentation and office correspondence have been torture; blogging darn well near impossible.

It's pretty clear what's going on here; awfully frustrating as well. How much work will be necessary to put me back together again this time around? And how will it hit me the next time (if it does)? I don't want to keep spending so much of my time and intellect fighting emotional windmills. I want to move on. Be productive. Live up to a potential that so far's been stifled and sabotaged by traumatic overhead.