I am nervous and uncertain going in but also excited. I’m also walking in thinking about how I haven’t heard from Joe still, thinking about all things related to my stuff, unsure whether to follow up or just let it take time. Following up gives more opportunity for certainty but also guarantees more thinking about it. Letting it take time is maybe enabling continued behavior I’m not okay with. I looked up the case online to see at least there’s nothing urgent to be informed of. So far I choose to let it happen.

In the initial consult with the acupuncturist I feel like I’m talking too much or struggling to find the right words. I’m aware of a feeling of uncertainty several times, but only looking back in hindsight do I appreciate how the uncertainty exacerbates my own uncertainty about myself. Like the massage therapist, the acupuncturist makes sure I feel empowered to communicate, and it’s helpful and even a little emotional still to be told that.

I interpret her being respectful of my comfort as her being cautious with me. I think that says something about me.

I’m a little scared of needles in the ear but I do it anyway. That’s who I am, and I like that. There is a fine line between facing fears and ignoring intuition, and I think that distinction is one I’d like to get better at discerning. I’d like to have more confidence in myself to know when I’m being courageous and when I’m ignoring my gut likely for the sake of being easygoing.

Some of the needles are not comfortable when inserted and some I barely feel. They generally settle into barely noticing. Once they are in, the lights go off, light music plays from a hot pink iPod like mine, and the acupuncturist leaves me there.

I’m very aware that I’m alone in my head with no guidance and that I’m trapped here. This is difficult. The first few minutes I have doubts I can do this. I maybe even decide I won’t do this again.

And then I realize how the way I avoid being alone with my head is not a good thing. I avoid it entirely these days. I don’t have to be alone in my head all the time but I shouldn’t be unable to do so. So I shift into embracing this challenge. Some of this work has to be hard.

I also am surprised at how much I’m not panicking at the thought of being trapped. Usually that is a really big trigger for me. I’m not comfortable with it but I’m not panicking.

I try to do a body scan but I’m too frazzled. I try to meditate but I decide for some reason I don’t want to count breaths. I don’t want to fall into the mindset that I’m just anxiously passing time, which I often associate with counting. I try to just follow the breath, breathe in, breathe out. I try to use mantras like when I’m racing. Even get in a round of “every single cell in my body is happy and well.” I try to be an observer of what comes up. I do just okay at all of these things.

I end up more relaxed, no longer feeling trapped or specifically anxious, but not melted and zen either. Still, there is relaxation occurring. And still, lots of thoughts.

The longest train of thought is an idea that I want to speak at my high school. I want to tell my story there – to be a person who gives the students there permission to have a problem when it feels like they’re not supposed to. I imagine this for a while, how it could happen, what I would say. I wonder what it would have been like for me if someone had given that kind of talk when I was going through it. I feel called toward it more.

I often have ideas like this. In this moment I notice, this is you still taking action, this is you still trying to fix it. I tell myself it’s not my job to. It’s not. But whose job is it? I think maybe it’s not wrong or hurting myself to recognize there are ways I maybe could help even one person. I need it to be okay if I don’t do so. I need to be okay with it if all that happened to me meant nothing. But I am still allowed to choose to try to make some difference, to try to make things better. It’s again a fine line of why I’m doing it: it can’t be because I’m still searching for healing outside of myself. That is my work to do. I know that.

By the time it’s time to leave, I’m feeling heavy on the table and moving sounds worse than staying. I do feel aware of my tension as I have so far in this program. I feel aware that my mind was racing. But there I was, trapped with my thoughts, and still able to find some relaxation. I think that is a win.

I don’t know how much I will do acupuncture, but I know I want to try it again and see, going in with more certainty, how it feels. I want to challenge myself to continue; it feels like a good place for me to be practicing being alone in my head. I don’t really understand what the needles are doing, but I know there’s something happening there. I’m curious for the next time.

(Later that day)
I take myself out to eat after a long swim to save time and not have to cook. The restaurant is really backed up and there’s a long wait just to order. I feel patient and compassion towards the worker who is there alone. Part of me thinks, well, good thing I’m not in a rush, and I attribute that to my patience. But I realize actually I have a lot to do tonight, and there is something soothed in me that can be patient anyway. My emotions are not overblown or taking over. I am in control of how I respond to this situation, and I like how I choose to respond, and I like myself in this moment.

When I drive home there’s a thunderstorm behind me, but the skies ahead are fairly clear. The lightning is so bright it makes the clear view ahead flicker, and it’s not something I can remember witnessing before. It is simple but beautiful, and I’m glad I’m here to see it. I’m glad I’m present enough to notice it. I have a lot to be stressed about but I feel some peace.

A stupid symptom of depression for me is I don’t like any music. I skip every song. Nothing is what I want it to be. On the drive home, I don’t want to skip anything.