I can feel that the ibuprofen has kicked in. I still hurt, but the pain is coming from much further away.

 Not sure why, but when I catch a glimpse of one of those clear, vinyl, decorated bags from my childhood in the 70s, I get the shivers. My first instinct is joy: that's where Mom kept my toys when we went out. The emotion following is overwhelming. An intense wave of powerlessness. 

I've looked into myself as deeply as I could, and don't believe there was a specific harm that happened to me in those early years. I must be associating it with a wave of grief that was drowning my mother. The rawness of her sorrow--it was uncontainable. She had lost her sister, and, to this day, a handful of years since Mom passed, I don't think she recovered. 

What makes one person so much more harmed by sorrow than another person? I wish I had an answer.

 I feel guilty saying this, but I really don't understand love. As humans, everything we do is conditional, opportunistic. That's hw we survive, right? Am I a sociopath that I feel that love is a protective projection?

But I mean, sometimes I'll feel absolute warmth coming from no ulterior motives, and that is "love." 

And my best friend in the world is genuine in her compassion and feelings and love, and I feel that it is unconditional. 

So it's back to: my love is conditional.