Between all of my wildly inappropriate responses to completely appropriate behaviors, questions, lighting, flavors, sensations, looks, tones, and temperatures, I am trying to be nice. More than nice. I am trying to love.
Loving while disembodied by all the pills I’ve swallowed, while shaking and forgetting every third word, is hard. But I am trying. I am thanking my husband for ordinary tasks. I am hugging my children any moment the thought doesn’t undo me. I am using excessive emojis when texting my mother. I am accepting forgiveness as it is offered. I am accepting gluten free carrot cupcakes as they are served.
And while I do not think the pills are working, the cupcakes seem to be doing the trick.