In the Dumps

 I’m terribly sad this morning, I miss Legs, I’m still recovering from “the incident” last Fall, I think I’m a terrible wife, I don’t think I can trust anyone, the news is awful, the comedians have all been chased away. It’s times like this I hate being so sensitive—I wish I had a thicker hide like other people I know. I know if I were still drinking, I’d be a morning drinker by now. I guess I have gratitude that things are not as bad as they could be, I’ve got my sobriety, I have sponsor Shawn, and sober mom and Michael. Michael even arranged for the cleaners to come yesterday, but my spirits weren’t lifted by it…oh Legs, I miss you so much, my beloved hound.

Maybe what’s at issue is losing Legs is a trial run for how it will feel to say goodbye to mom. I’m fearful of the time when she goes, I don’t want to be alone with only Michael as my main support. What will happen with Fetter and Levy, will my treatment be jeopardized? Will things decompose like they did in 2016-2017, leaving me off my rocker, relapsed, ultimately hospitalized not just once but three times in a six month period? Oh reader(s) I’m scared, I don’t know what the future holds so I lean towards envisioning disasters. Maybe what I need to do is get back to taking things One Day At A Time. 

So here’s what I have today:

I am calling mom soon and that always makes me feel better.

It’s Thursday, so I have Fetter at 12:30 p.m. We can discuss my fears and he can coach me on how to manage them more effectively.

I’m going to mom’s after my therapy and I can spend the afternoon laughing with her. Then I shower and we are going out to dinner at 94th Aero Squadron, which is something I really want to do. Dinners out always make me feel better (most of the time).

If I get honest with myself, I really have been in a mild depressive state for a good long while. My prior psychiatrist always had me on an antidepressant, whereas Dr. Levy does not prescribe one for me. I don’t like depression, it’s extremely challenging to live with, though thank God I’m not in a deep, clinical depression anymore. I guess today I just flirt with malaise a lot, mild melancholy from time to time. Maybe this is entirely normal, I don’t know. It does propel me towards doing my art, to want to express my feelings to an audience. I feel this need to express when I’m manic too, but it’s much less controlled, I think? Maybe not, just different.

What I’m going through is grieving, grieving for Legs, grieving for best friends gone (see “Ode to Andi”), grieving for college experiences wasted (see “Letter to Smith”), grieving for my journalism career—or any career for that matter—destroyed (see unnamed triptych). I’m wondering when my art might make a shift towards something more positive, more uplifting? Maybe “To Jasper” might signal a new shift for me. We shall see.

OK, Michael is up, onward I go into this day. Some order has been brought into this house of chaos. Maybe that’s why I’ve been off lately? Perhaps. See ya.