Yesterday was 9/11. For the first time in years I didn’t cry or become depressed. I almost cried after seeing an image on Instagram of a guy on a stair-climbing machine at a gym, wearing a firefighter’s uniform in honor of 9/11. I choke and tear up a bit just thinking about it. A few days ago, I felt depression start to come on, but I regulated that negative emotion, preventing it from becoming real or debilitating.
Instead, I signed a form accepting a new agent for my life insurance policy with yesterday’s date. I also signed an agreement at a fertility clinic to accept donor sperm so that I might become a mother. (My boyfriend does not want another child, and that’s okay with me. He is supportive of my decision.) I happily put September 11, 2017 down on the form thinking about this new beginning.
On Saturday, two days before yesterday, I had taken a few drops of CBDa. I was at the farmer’s market and started to get overwhelmed by the stimuli of people moving, voices, transactions, children being children, and choices. I didn’t feel anxious about them, but I sensed my brain shutting down as if it were about to overload. I tried to only take a drop, but I couldn’t feel the drop and ended up taking a few, I think, until I felt oil under my tongue. Within seconds, a calm overcame me and I began to enjoy the market.
I don’t know if CBDa is why yesterday was not difficult. If I think long enough about the firefighter in uniform, I’m sure the tears will roll. In fact, I’ve got some forming as I type this. But the dread and grief is missing. If CBDa is the reason I’m glad, though I don’t want to rely on it especially if I’m heading toward motherhood. At least I still have Penny.