The hives are starting. For the past week, I've managed to keep them at bay with Benadryl, high blood pressure pills, and sleep. But there comes a time when medicine and sleep are not enough.
I'm stressed. Super duper stressed. And my skin's fighting to show it.
As I sat here, perusing news site after news site, futilely trying to secure a small area of quiet for myself, I scratched my wrist absentmindedly. Just now, I stopped scratching and looked down at the inflamed area; the hives are back and they're spreading.
This happened to me three years ago when I completed my first year at my current school. The hives came at this time too, just two days after the school year ended and days before I left on my birthday trip to New York. Now, I'm staring at my 33rd birthday in the face (this Saturday), fighting to keep the stress hormones at bay but I can't find any rest, any peace.
My son is different. With no other recourse, I let my son go to a school that changed him for the worst. Well, if truth be told, each school he has gone to, minus the one he attended for a week, has changed him. School was the last place I expected my son to be harmed but I was wrong. In the halls and hidden crevices are where I lost my son.
The enormity of the uncertain future, his and mine, has heaped on a nearly unbearable load upon my back. Today, after a family therapy session, seeing my son walk farther and farther from who he could be, stress wrapped its arms around my shoulders, gripping me tightly its embrace. And the hives returned.
I've got to figure out a way to keep stress from overtaking my whole body again. That last time was truly miserable.
QoMV
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