d e p l e t e d

The year is 2020. The month is May. The day is 64. Sixty-four days in the COVID-19 era of lockdown. Her left eye opened around 6:17am, while the right eye was sort of stuck together — she once again forgot to remove the contact lenses. As her left hand reached out for her phone and headphones, her right hand stroked her neck — still stiff. Headphones are on and she is ready for her morning meditation, thinking of the future self, letting go of the past, being aware of the present moment in this space. Imagining the distance between her ears in space. Visualizing her own heart pumping fast on a dark-beautiful space in between her chest bones and her mattress. Making pancakes with her kids on a sunny morning, the massive glass doors open to the backyard where the dog is chasing birds and her partner is pouring fresh coffee while cheekily teasing her about a rather enduring client review left on her website the night before. There's laughter, a bit of chaos and a lot of love. Laughter that slowly fades into a grey blur of her past — the familiar feeling of guilt for finding herself happy. Guilt for feeling happy. Guilt for visualizing how she wants her life to be. She is still, nothing in her body is moving, her mind is wondering in between the future and the past. She caughts herself and comes back to the present. Breathes. The voice on the headphone tells her to rest her right hand onto her heart, to feel it, to feel the energy around it. She sees light, a bright light coming straight out of her heart. The past again creeps into the light, telling her she is a bad person for working on her healing, for feeling good. The meditation ends and she keeps her eyes closed. Giving into the past for another couple of minutes before leaving the house. 

The year is 2020. The month is May and a lot has changed over the past 11 months. The one thing that didn't change is the capacity they have to deplete her energy. She is tired.