August, 30th
Margaret,
The first days I spent with my aunt were of frenetic energy. I unpacked, settled, ordered, made decisions. I wouldn't sit still. This, that, over here, over there, right now!
But then it soon worn off and I felt depleted, exhausted, barely able to do anything but breathe. I fell ill with flu like symptoms and my aunt sent me to bed with a sleeping pill. I slept, slept, woke to eat a sandwich and a glass of juice, turned around in bed, and kept sleeping. My aunt's maid, a lovely lady in her forties named Mabel, coaxed me into getting a bath by doing the wisest thing: she filled the bathtub with hot water herself because she knew I wouldn't go if I had to stood waiting.
My aunt would hate me if she knew that I prefer Mabel's company, silent and respectful, to hers. I know my aunt means well but I have a hard time keeping up with her chattering. Sometimes I ask Mabel questions about herself, mostly to hear her talk - she's from the Liverpool area and sometimes her original accent slips into her speech. Scouse is quite different from the broad Manc both Bessy and Nicholas normally use, and echoes of which I detected creeping into John's voice when he was about to dive for the kill in an argument, but I've learned to love Northern accents and it makes me feel more at home.
After the flu subsided I caught an urinary infection that wouldn't leave, then I had cankers and various sores in my gums, tongue and lips, then ear pain for the first time in my life, foot fungus in my feet and hands, and on top of that, shingles. The doctor shook his head when he saw me. He said those ailments could be treated with pills, lotions and ointments but I wasn't going anywhere without some extra help.
He looked me in the eye and said that my body was sending messages I shouldn't ignore, and that I had to ask myself seriously what kind of therapy or therapies I could try. "There are many trends in psychology", he said, "but you strike me as a strong person who will make herself responsible for her choices; maybe you wish to try also with yoga and meditation, maybe you find an outlet running, writing or photography. Think about it."
"Everyone's lives go through hard times", he said at the end of the appointment, "and you're taking a big deal at once." He drilled into my eyes from over his half moon glasses, "Just remember it is alright to feel down for a while and so it is to ask for help, will you?"
He sounds like a completely reasonable person even if his message is quite gloomy. I'm truly wrecked and not getting better anytime soon.
September, 10th
John:
One would believe that with all the work at the Mills I don't have much spare time yet when I leave work idle time stretches ominously before me. There's nothing really worth doing except resting for more work tomorrow, or just burning it out at the gym or from the bleachers. It's so good to be able to yell and swear, and be openly angry and frustrated
Every game I play these days include catching a ball with my hands. I'm even playing goalkeeper in football, a position I had never tried before, because I need, I really NEED to catch and grasp a fast moving object in my proximity.
I think it's because I can't believe how easily Margaret slipped from my grasp, how I let her get away just like that. I find myself often staring at my hands, palms up, closing them in tight fists and opening them again. They seem strong and they're skilled at many things, but the one thing I wanted most just leaked through like water.
Note: I am absolutely incapable of recreating Manchester's dialects (or any place's) but I wanted to make it clear that the people of Milton have their own speech and Margaret likes it.