Recovering from collapse, depression, and especially grie, is a slow and non linear process.
Yesterday I did things, quite a few. I Wrote, did yard work, saw a client, cleaned, and then went to a an event celebrating my friend's album release.
I dressed up! Put on make up and something that made my legs look impossibly long, which at 5" 9' is pretty easy, but what I am saying is: I put some effort in. I was out later than I have been in a while.
I had a blast.
This morning stirred me in a way that I have not felt in a while and found myself squirming and sighing beneath my sheets before I got up to make coffee to start the day.
Mom is home so, naturally, I called, texted and then took myself by her house, to no avail. She was out biking with her man. So I returned home made a sausage, egg, and cheese sammich and then the malaise began to settle in.
I'm really quite sick of the up and down, but it is not as drastic a swing as was a month ago when the grief was fresher, the rumination sharper, and my capacity even less than it is now.
It is reminiscent of what can only be called: manic swings by my mother when I was growing up. She would waver recklessly from one side of the spectrum to the other—laughing and jigging one day, throwing dishes the next, and collapsed on the couch before, after, or maybe in between.
I cringe. Am I repeating this pattern?
The root cause of my mood instability is grief.
The subsequent depression one of the effects of that. The lighter more ebullient attitudes and behavior is far more akin to my actual nature. Previously, I was wired for anxiety. I can remember very few occasions when I have hit either depression or a physical or emotional collapse. I'm far too much of an over functioner for that. But now it is happening.
The fog rolled in, as I sat in my leather throne.
I picked up a coloring book, something I have not done in a while, and began depositing orange, purples, reds, yellows, and blues in between the delicate lines on the page. As the colors swirled before me, the colors inside me started moving too.
The rumination moved into an internal conversation that (at some point) I'd like to have with That Man who Matters to Me. Then the tears followed. That felt a relief compared to the pressure and exhaustion that had previously been consuming me.
This will pass. I can feel it. It is already. It is lighter by the day now and the dips are far less severe. And, as uncomfortable as it is, I will feel my grief, for stifling and trying to bypass it or pretend that it is not there only seems to prolong it.
So tea it is, and movies. Something with Marilyn Monroe tonight, Niagara. I've loved her since I was young. And one thing I can say about her is: she was deeply dedicated to her craft. No matter the other tragedies of her life, she was a beautiful shining being who was tender and vulnerable—maybe too much so for this world.
I relate. And though I had broken my crush off with her years ago due simply to my own attunement to her melancholy, I find myself resonating, once again.
And here I am. It's before midnight of what will become day 6 so I have fulfilled my commitment. And sometimes the bare minimum is enough.
If you care to encourage me comments are most appreciated and you can always subscribe, if so inspired, to follow me on this journey.