The last few days have been marked by strange happenings. I've stopped taking my medication for thyroid, after a discussion with a friend. He was saying there is no difference between my father who takes 17 pills a day - to walk straight, go to sleep, breath right, thin his blood and I, who takes one pill to produce enough thyroid hormone to keep me awake, active and free from the feeling of thick flow in my arms, the feeling of blood moving thick, low bp.
I had no answer. I had only accepted this remedy for a while so as to let the moment pass, the moment made of many small moments - a performance at my heels, watchful mentors who were teaching us ballet like clockwork, 43 degrees of sun, my father in hospital who needed my love and attention and probably general loneliness. I let the grueling moment pass, I surrendered, I gave up, knowing I couldn't handle all this just then.
And now, post this conversation I've stopped taking it. The pill isn't going to cure me anyway, why take it? The thyroid pill isn't going to go to my thyroid gland and say, "Hey mister! you're making less of that stuff I really need to be up and about."Its just going to give me my daily fix and let all the dust rot under the carpet.
So that's that.
Walking in a crowded place feels weird, people moving really fast and animated. My fingers feel thick and heavy as my arms pendulum and co-ordinate with my feet. To think I'm a dancer who is tired in climbing a flight of stairs is embarrassing. But that's how it is now. Squeezing a lemon and even typing this text out is tires my wrists.
Days like today, when I went far to fetch a few things, gently through the rush and the maddening crowds, sometimes, like today, make me feel like I did something. Took a step against it all. A sense of accomplishment. Exhausted but happy.
Something like this was happening in February in Goa.
(drawings from Goa 11-12 Journal)
Love and love and love.
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