Every once in a while, I get down.
As Holly Golightly would say it, I get the "mean reds". I'm not just sad.
My whole body feels it.
For no apparent reason, my body decides one morning that it doesn't want to get up. That's how it begins and then I remain in this funk for a week or two. As a I start to come out of it, The first thing I realize is that the ice cream has gone straight to my belly and undone what flatness I'd recovered after child-bearing. Next, that spare time that I spent in a hot bath or rereading Jane Eyre would've been better spent with my family, with God or at the very least exercising to make up for my carb-addiction. The last thing I realize (right after the mess my house is in and the one hundred things my husband want me to catch up on)is that I missed the anniversary of some tragedy or another in my past.
That's when it hits me. Again. My brain may have missed the anniversary of my brothers death, but my body didn't.
Spring is a bad time.
In Montana, winter starts in September and ends in June. The lack of sunshine gets to me by...now. It's March 22nd. Almost exactly two years ago my baby's heart stopped beating. Either that or it never started. Then I had a DNC on April 8th. Around this same time in 2004 I walked in on the phone conversation that began my parents divorce.
I've mourned and allowed God to heal those hurts, but somehow it seems like my body never forgets. I don't know why, or when it'll go away. For now I have pasta to eat and sit ups to think about doing...and I'll just wait for the sun to come out.
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