The sounds of a spring-time rainy day in North Carolina are soft, and fairly cosy. The greens look greener, the budding trees more full. But it dulls the edges of my heart in ways that bring discontent, as well as a limp laziness of not caring to my day. Unable to shake this off, and just do something, I melt and wilt deeper into my blanketed chair. Hugging my umpteenth cup of coffee to my chest, feeling a bit of the sleepiness from the warmth, without the futile buzz that comes with caffeine. Oh yeah. I am beyond mellow. Starting to slip into the old fetid swimming hole that is depression, I question my emotional maturity.
I had great hopes at the beginning of this year. New medication that was supposed to make me dance with energy and lightness, hope that our life was really making sense to the glories of the future. Chris' new position in his job, that would bring my dearest friend back in place of the stranger his old job created. I felt assured that we were making positive decisions regarding the most important four years of our son's education. Moving ahead with confidence, and the ability to ignore the flagging red tips of warning flags along the way, my heart was hopeful. I still had the ability to talk myself out of the slipped footings as I made my way through my days.
It became apparent to me that I was losing ground, when I found myself deflated and defeated and uninspired with my Irish dance classes, and even my hard-earned place in my Intermediate Boot Camp was making me whine and balk. My joys were turning against me.
Something is wrong. But I don't know what.
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