Transitional Ails

I am setting myself on fire.

I took a Snapchat a few minutes ago of a small, slender bottle that probably held hot sauce in its past life.  Now it contains a liquid called "Fire Cider."  In short, it's apple cider vinegar with a bunch of spicy things in it, and the extract from a vegetable I hate: bell peppers.  I've been slowly ingesting two tablespoons a day at the suggestion of a friend of mine, who's better-versed in natural remedies than I am.  As a result, a fire is raging inside my body.  I'm having trouble regulating my temperature, and I feel weak.  Yet I'd rather feel like this compared to what the last month has done to me physically.  This is necessary pain for future pleasure - or so that's what I want to believe.

I called my acupuncturist's office yesterday looking to make an appointment.  I've had flashes of migraine warnings on my left side.  Yet they're almost always just above my right temple.  My terrible posture has returned and my back and legs throb daily.  My complexion sports a well-balanced triangle of pimples and dry skin on my forehead and below my cheekbones.  There is a physical cost your body pays when you insist on standing on your own.  Removing the obstacles that you used to lean on when you've had enough of the way they've treated you.  Even when it's time, it still takes time to regain balance.  Even when your body works as it should, it will move slower in new surroundings.  Unusual weather.  Environment has so much to do with how we feel, including how our skin feels to the touch, and the way our bones bend without breaking.

I wonder if this is what pregnancy feels like, to some extent.  I took a walk around my neighbourhood this morning, and found myself in a store that sells various cooking spices.  It made me nauseous.  I couldn't focus on rubbing the mint and lemongrass into a raw fish because I was trying not to hurl the black coffee in my stomach all over the vintage shelves.  Nevertheless, I left with a bottle each of red chili flakes and ground turmeric.  I'm going to pack a box for myself later.  It will be like a time capsule that says closed just for a few months, but that's long enough in my world to be re-opened in another life.  I'm leaving it for my roommate to ship to me once I've settled down on the coast.  It will contain a Costco-sized box of unsalted cashews, the chili flakes I bought today, and some very expensive buckwheat noodles, at least in part.  This much change is unsettling.  Even when it's good, planned, positive.  It still can make one's insides do cartwheels, especially if you happen to be as sensitive and sentimental as I am.

My sleep quality has suffered greatly.  I'm rising earlier but taking far longer to drift off to sleep.  My libido is inconsistent.  It has been weeks since I was last touched, though I try to orgasm regularly to fill my body with endorphins and clear my head.  I do it to tire myself out when I can't fall asleep, and it still works - though it's only a matter of time, less than half an hour it seems, before I wake up too hot, and then I struggle to fall asleep again.  Mentally, my thoughts are chaotic.  I alternate between writing captivating lines of poetry and spitting out awful paragraphs that tell multiple stories or no story at all.  I went from a large French press of black coffee a day, to black tea with almond milk and honey.  Then I moved to water, Pocari Sweat from Japan, and fresh mint leaves steeped in boiling water.  I know, I should have been drinking water this whole time.  That probably had something to do with my dry mouth at bedtime.  My dry mouth upon waking.  The dry mouth I was warned by a past partner of as a sign of diabetes.  I have all those terrible diseases in my family - stress-related disease, diet-related disease.  It's why I've quit alcohol, quit meat, quit bullshit.  Yes, withdrawal is a part of this too.  My equilibrium is out of order.  My body doesn't know what to do with itself.

My hands are shaking as I type this, not out of fear or apprehension but because of too much black coffee.  I should know better than to write directly into Squarespace on Safari.  It spells out danger, danger, danger.  Not the good kind.  Not the fun kind.  I've already lost too much good work to this brand of stubbornness.  So I'll end it here.  Maybe I should take a nap, too.