I’ve talked a lot this fall and winter about how I thought I had finally beaten the S.A.D. monster. I ramped up my vitamins, I’m exercising at least five days a week, and we’ve taken up skiing. That, there, has been HUGE. Being above the clouds, in the sunshine and fresh air, exercising (my demons) all day long. Throw in a birthday weekend full of happy kids, good food, and beautiful friends, and I thought I had January beat.
Then Monday came along.
(Cue DJ, scratching a needle across a record and then, complete silence.)
I hit a perfect storm on Monday morning which saw me crashing from the birthday high, with a nauseous stomach that wasn’t stress-related, complete with a number of things on my mind that are stress-related, and trying to battle this after a horrible nights’ sleep. I got the kids to school, crawled back into bed, and thought that I’d wake up with a bit of clarity. I thought wrong.
I woke up, still nauseous but at a manageable level, and read for a bit. I made my way downstairs, had some tea and a snack, and thought I’d do some work. I opened my laptop and just … blinked. For minutes. Maybe I should read some more? I read for another hour or so, sat back in front of my laptop and found myself physically unable to do anything. I had never felt this way before. I always have thirty (thousand) things to do and idle time is not something that happens often, if ever. My reading time is grabbed in small portions as we drive up to the ski hill or a few moments before bed or while waiting for an appointment. If I have hours alone, I will work or edit/upload photos, or write, or just DO something. I was home alone, I didn’t have my head in the toilet, and here I was feeling like my arms were dead weights and my head was a London fog.
I read some more. I tried to work/write/engage in some way a few times, but every time I hit a wall.
I can’t do this.
I felt powerless, which made me equal parts frustrated and apathetic. I talked to Matthew and told him how I was feeling. About how sad I was feeling, too, which is the sum of some things I can’t talk about yet and a hundred other things. He told me that it’s OK to have bad days, and it’s OK to have sad days. And then I cried.
The afternoon got better, especially once the kids were home, but I felt quiet. I still feel quiet. I haven’t felt as I did Monday morning, and I hope I don’t again, because that was a first for me and I didn’t like it. I can’t even blame any of it on raging female hormones, which made it all the more odd for me.
I hope that it was January’s last attempt to get me down and while she succeeded for a day (or three), I’d appreciate it if she exited quietly. I have a life to live.