Prick

On Monday, I had acupuncture. It's awesome, life changing, etc. We open my chi, we redistribute my energy when it's gone all gooey, and we explore the energies of various other things... emotions, toxins, allergens, medications, etc. Generally, the results range from stellar to "well, at least I feel relaxed" and it's part of my overall treatment, so there's nothing to lose. It could be hoo-haa, or it could be the stuff of the subtle body and whatever makes the brain light up in a functional MRI.

So Monday, she had me choose three vials representing energy. I chose "discouragement," "success," and "low self-esteem." I figured that I fear success because of feelings of low self-esteem, and so I get easily discouraged (that's an interesting word, no? Like, it's the anti-courage). I'm sure this is all a part of my ingrained Puritan work ethic (which in this instance makes my father "theater"... it's a different post, you can look it up if you want). Like... I can only be successful if I work really, really hard. But there's no end to hard work, and one can slave until one collapses, and it may not ever be enough. And ultimately, I have to work so hard because I am no good, because if I were to be any good, I wouldn't need to work so hard (damn you, recursive data!).

During the treatment, I felt amazing. Unstoppable. I could see my creative future clear as day, and it was gilded in bright, shiny success. I visualized what I wanted to see happen, where I would travel to (and how I could bring Cabana Boy along), what I would do, what I would have. It was fantastic. My acupuncturist mentioned how great I was going to feel.

Eight hours later, I felt lower than low. Basement low. Coal shaft low. Secret plutonium storage facility low. I lost all energy, I cried, I moped, I clung to Cabana Boy like he was my glass elevator. I fell asleep at 9:30pm and slept until well past 7am the next morning. That morning, I couldn't do any writing. I couldn't do any work. I just felt mopey and slow and uninterested in doing anything other than lying in bed.

Later that day, success called. Great news! I'm a finalist! My visualization is working. Do I credit my acupuncture treatment? Yeah, I kind of do. Did I feel better? No, not at all. I felt worse. Much, much, much worse. I couldn't let the good news in. I pushed it away as hard as I could. What if I were to only be a finalist, and not a selection? I would feel sad. I would feel disappointed. Instead of letting that happen, I decided not to feel anything good. Well, that's really damn stupid of me. No one ever died of sad or disappointment. It doesn't negate the fact that this year I am a finalist (while last year, I was flat out rejected). Nor do I look at all of my amazing friends trying amazing scary things, and think poorly of them if they get rejected. That's assinine. I just don't know what is wrong with me.

I'm tempted to call my acupuncturist and ask her what she thinks is going on. Why I don't feel powerful, successful or brave anymore, even though success arrived as I'd planned. It could be nothing, it could be unrelated. My body is battling a cold. My employment situation is having some issues that will impact my future finances. I have recently eaten entirely too much white sugar, and yesterday I had to have my cervix prodded. I could just be a normal, stressed-out American. Or I could be a self-sabotaging wombat stuck on a crazy emotional frequency who needs to be pricked with more needles until I have less static.

I don't know... should I call her? Should I just take a St. Johns Wort and get on with my day? Should I just suck it up and write, like my good Puritan work ethic demands? Or should I go take a nap? I am open to suggestions.