itchy

I’m so fucking itchy tonight. I want to say I’ve tried all the things, but I haven’t. I’ve tried all of the things I usually try. And usually, one works well enough, or I get tired of trying. It’s not so ragey right now or anymore really, I’m glad for that. But man, it’s nagging at me. Sometimes I think I miss the days when it was so loud, so pronounced. It demanded to be heard, to be made known, it was fucking violent and it left awake. It almost killed me and I almost wanted it to. Why would we ever miss that?

Today it’s different, it’s something from earlier, something from the past, a “no” that should’ve been “yes”, or the look she gave me when she said that at lunch. Or is it something from tonight, which was a great night actually? Burnt dinner, but all the dogs, all the blankets, all the cuddles. And still. It’s the puuuulllllling at me, calling. What am I longing for? It’s crave, it’s need, it’s longing for….what? It is hollow and there is no end. And I have proved that to be true, oh, so many times.

Maybe you’re familiar with that rodeo. The difference between all those torturous years of itching, and searching and sinking, is that the itch isn’t scary to me anymore. Now it’s a pointer. Something is going on, there’s a fire in the house somewhere, where is the smoke coming from. Why am I being triggered, how am I responding to the feeling of being triggered, have I been here before, what did I do, can I breathe? Last week, the fire was real, I needed the trigger to show me where a breakdown in my process was, and it did. Thank god(ish?) for people wiser than me, that helped me see that. Tonight? Tonight I’m tired and anxious as fuck, and going to lay on the floor in the dark, until my swirling thoughts begin to slow. If all goes well, I’ll wash my hair tomorrow. If not, I’ve got a headband ready, much to my teenagers’ dismay.