Walking down the stairs to get a drink of water last night I experienced a sudden furious attack of vertigo. I've been diagnosed and treated for this before, gone to the ER when the dizziness was so extreme I couldn't keep down enough liquids to stay hydrated.
On the stairs last night I had to stop walking and as I closed my eyes and clutched the railing I envisioned the tile flat beneath my feet and the walls rising straight up to meet the ceiling. When you have an attack of vertigo it's like spinning uncontrollably under water. You have no idea which way is up.
Much of this past year since losing Vincent has been like that - events careening out of control, feeling helpless, submerged, disoriented, powerless. At some point in time I have to believe that the path is smooth before me, that the spinning in my head will stop. I have to trust that my feelings don't have the final say, that it will get better, that one day I will realize which way is up. Until then I'll keep moving, swimming up toward the light, walking slowly while putting one foot carefully in front of the other. Trusting, even when it feels wrong.