Good Morning Sunshine

It was the first sunny morning since my arrival in Rodanthe and I took advantage of the opportunity to go watch the sun come up over the water. I arrived at the beach right after the sun had cleared the horizon. There she shone in all her glory, this life-giving entity.

I had my coffee in hand as I walked along the sand, acutely aware of it shifting under my weight and the increased effort required to simply take step after step. I paused to take a photo of “Ebb Tide” which has taken on some larger than life meaning that I haven’t fully grasped. My elongated shadow might offer some insight. For now I will simply post the picture.

I returned to my room where I had more coffee and a bagel. I emailed my mom to let her know I was ok. I had a phone call from my daughter. I checked some messages from friends. And then I took my journal out on the beach, sat on the little wooden platform at the base of “Ebb Tide,” and began to write:

“A good deal of stress has left my system through tears. There’s probably more to be shed. And that is all as it should be. I need a re-set. After a year of spending time talking and texting with S, he has now disappeared from my life. Withdrawn himself completely. I’ve had to quit that daily habit cold turkey. That has been hard in and of itself. But the way in which things ended involved a lot of harsh words. I listened to him spew vitriol at me. I heard all his words. They penetrated me like venomous knives.”

“Everyone hurts. And often in paying respect to other’s hurts, I overlook my own. He hurt me. He hurt me. He hurt me. It was all so unnecessary. Every bit of it. I have tried to understand his perspective. It just doesn’t matter. My hurt is valid. I honor my hurt. I kiss it as I give it to the waves. Thank-you, my hurt. Thank-you for teaching me that I deserve better treatment. Thank-you for showing me what happens when I don’t listen and respond to my inner knowing. When I don’t love myself fully.”

After writing for a while, I returned to my room, overcome with the urge to sleep. The sun streamed through the window and across the bed, heating the room considerably. I stripped down to my underwear and stretched out in the generous swath of sunlight soaking up its radiant warmth. I turned on a dharma talk on how to grieve but was only remotely conscious of the words as I drifted in and out of sleep in a manner similar to the fevered sleep one experiences when sick. I awoke in a haze half an hour before a Zoom appointment with my psychiatrist.

I have developed a curious mistrust of the way my mental health has been approached over the years. So I listen with skepticism to the advice of my psychiatrist. He asked me more than once if I wanted him to increase my dosage of anti-depressants. I don’t want to be on anti-depressants in the first place. And he’s the expert. Why does he ask me what I want? I really don’t understand this. After a brief game of ping-pong with words, it was mutually agreed that I would increase my dosage by 2.5mg. The caveat is, he wants me to have an EKG when I return home because this anti-depressant can cause heart arrhythmia. And he wants me to go to an “assessment center” where I can be more fully assessed.

I just don’t know.

After the meeting with the psychiatrist, I drove to the Pea Island National Wildlife Refuge. It was late in the afternoon. I would be able to catch the sunset on that side of the island. The sound of the birds — swans, egrets, geese, ducks, and so many I don’t know — was otherworldly. Truly. In unison they sounded like an alien craft had landed. I walked along a trail that lead through a tunnel of oaks.

And there were tunnels off the trail that I didn’t follow.

I took a video in which you can hear, briefly, the sound of the multitude of birds in the beginning. Mostly you just hear the wind interfering with the sound recording. At the end, you can see a nice group of swans, I think, swimming in formation. There was a baby with them who doesn’t really show up on the video.

Another excerpt from my journal reads, “The beach is deserted. But I don’t feel alone. The ocean is teeming with life. The seabirds are near. I sense the earth and all its bounty of life beneath my feet.”

I took a photo from the visitor’s center of the east side of the island where the ocean lives before getting a photo of the sun going down over the tidal ponds to the west. I just can’t get over how narrow this stretch of land is. And here I am, standing in the middle of this narrow stretch, surrounded by water. It is so peculiar to me.

I returned to my room and ate a small dinner. Then I bundled up and went out on the beach to gaze up at the stars. It is such a treat to be in a space that offers dark skies, where viewing the stars is possible. But silly me, I tried to take a photo of the stars. What a sad and pointless thing to do. I realized then that this is, indeed, an impulse to validate my experience through sharing it with others. I made the conscious decision to let go of that impulse and just enjoy the stars.

One of the last things I wrote in my journal was, “If I give up my hurt, what do I replace it with?” I do not feel fully able to experience joy or even happiness. But I am starting to feel peace. That’s good enough.