I got very anxious today before going to my private water-coloring lesson. In order to get to my teacher's house I have to walk the way that I walked the first year here when I was at my worst, lugging my tormented body to physical therapy at Marathon Sports in Newton Corner. I trudged my way through the snow and slush and made my way through the winter into spring. Then I was told to do Botox and my descent into the Underworld began anew. I lost all the progress that I had scraped out of God's frozen ear. I lost it all, again. And went under, suffocating under cement, turning into molten tar. And still I watched my body walk to Marathon Sports, my brain focused on high buildings, images of razor blades and bodies of water that could smother the pain for once and for all into nothing raping my mind.

My anxiety. Today I crawled back into bed an hour before I had to go. I wanted to face the wall and to not leave my bed or my bedroom.

I went. I went to paint with water-colors. In the Spring of that year I started taking water-coloring classes at the New Art Centre in Newtonville. I discovered that I could stand for the three hour class and that I could paint lying down in my room. I discovered that I could paint. I realized that I had talent. I was mystified by the birds of many colors that appeared on my papers. I had gained something. The birds were a sign of progress, of life and of hope. Then I had Botox. For the second time, life and hope disappeared and sirens choked the darkness. I rocked my body back and forth on the floor of my room. I could no longer go to Micheal Milbourn's water-coloring class. I could no longer stand for three hours or for two or hours or for one hour. I could no longer schedule anything. My body caved into torment. My mind caved into torment. Windows were to jump out of. Ponds were to jump into. Tall buildings were magnets to my mind. Pills. Poisonous mushrooms, berries and back to pills.

I don't want to remember. I try hard to forget. I want to be present today, not jarred into the past. I don't want to relive it.

I walked through, past and into...

And once I reached my teacher's house and started painting I was here again.

I lost so much breath today.

And I gained two fish and a lot of homework; many more fish to paint.
Next week I will brave the way again.
Something good will come out of all of this.

I am sure.