This week has been a bitch.
On Monday morning I woke up and, somewhere around 7am, my mental health took a dive off a cliff. I was more or less successful in dealing with it over the course of the week, but overall it's been a difficult one.
I haven't been sleeping well since I got my tattoo, out of fear I might do something to it in my sleep. Once or twice, when it was still healing, I woke myself up scratching it. I'd wake up from the pain, put both my hands behind my back and lie staring at the ceiling, wide awake and terrified I'd messed up this very visible part of my body beyond repair.
On Saturday morning, I had a bad dream. (It took place in a café, as bad dreams do.) Just as the situation in the dream was about to escalate beyond the point of no return, I woke up. It was 5:20am. I sat up, wrote down some notes and went to a 7am yoga class, my first exercise since getting the tattoo. This Sunday morning, I went running again.
My arm is fine. Most of me is. The worst seems to have gone through my system and I intend to sweat it out with exercise, like a cold.
Next week will be better.