No More Blues

Spring hasn’t sprung yet, but I’m out of that mild depression I’ve battled for much of the winter. I woke up the other morning with a sunny disposition, and I’ve done so ever since. I still stay up too late and sleep in almost every day, but otherwise I’m in good shape. Not even the rain is bothering me. I just dream of the sunnier and warmer days to come, and look forward to the change to Daylight Saving Time next weekend. Longer days and shorter nights! Having some energy again! Flowers in the yard! Yay!!

This is why I love this time of year. On the surface, the only sign of spring is a few scattered daffodils, but soon there will be tulips and cherry blossoms. It’s still cold and snow is in the forecast for tomorrow, but change is in the air and even with the cloudy skies, there is promise in the occasional sunbreak. I haven’t even been using my HappyLight. I don’t need it now. Dr. Goodenough said to back off on it when I felt I was OK without it, but I’ll return to using it if the winter blues attack me again.

In the meantime, the season of Lent is upon us, and this year rather than give up sweets or doing some other form of penance, I vowed that I would attend Mass every Sunday and go to Confession at least once. So what did I do this morning but oversleep! I have to get up around 9 to go to the 11:00 Mass, and even though I set my alarm I must’ve turned it off and promptly fallen asleep again. I didn’t wake up until 10, which is when I have to leave. I’m going to Hell for sure if I don’t get my act together and do right by the Lord, who has given me so much.

Speaking of spiritual matters, I’ve been talking to Will a lot lately. I feel his presence so closely sometimes that I half-expect to see him sitting in his chair next to the sofa, wearing the T-shirt he bought in Jamaica and pajama bottoms. Toward the end he wore those PJs more often than jeans, and that was OK. But in my dreams, he always looks happy and healthy, and it comforts me to think he really is.

Thinking about Will just made me recall something from the early years of our marriage. He went through a phase where he bought me a card almost every day and wrote some pretty suggestive things in them, reminding me of how sexy he thought I was. Looking back, I realize how hard he worked to make me feel desirable, because my self-esteem was basically non-existent and I couldn’t understand why he loved me so much. It took me some ten years of marriage to recognize the unconditional nature of his love, and even longer to accept it. Still, he persisted until he’d convinced me that I deserved love, and I was never the same again.

But even with all this reminiscing, my grief is slightly less acute than it was, probably because I’m feeling good overall and that makes me less afraid to experience it. I can sometimes get through a day without crying, or at least feeling like it. Will’s birthday was rough, to be sure, but Ethan and Clark kept me distracted all day and I got through it. They’re really good at it, and they seem to know exactly when I need help the most. I think Ethan is more like his dad than he realizes, and his husband is right there with him. I’m so glad they took us in when they did, and that I’m not living on my own. I think my story would be a lot different if I were.

Oh, how funny—I was just watching the dogs and the little one bonked her head on the top of the doggie door on her way out. She’s such a spaz—she’s a year old but still acts like a puppy, chasing the other dogs all around and playing with anything she can get her paws on, including people and plastic bags. She uses my belly as a launch pad and is always trying to lick my face. I don’t let her because she eats turds. (I wish we could break her of that habit…yuck.)

Well, I guess I’ve rambled enough for one day. Sometimes several blog posts come to me all at once and they end up being blended into one that may or may not make a lot of sense. I hope this one does. Happy (almost) Spring!






Published by bpnurse

I'm a retired registered nurse and writer who also happens to be street-rat crazy, if the DSM-IV.....oops, 5---is to be believed. I was diagnosed with bipolar I disorder at the age of 55, and am still sorting through the ashes of the flaming garbage pile that my life had become. Here, I'll share the lumps and bumps of a late-life journey toward sanity.... along with some rants, gripes, sour grapes and good old-fashioned whining from time to time. It's not easy being bipolar in a unipolar world; let's figure it out together.

4 thoughts on “No More Blues

  1. I doubt you are going to hell because you missed some mass but church does help comfort one’s soul and gives a great feeling of community and belonging. it’s kinda cool that you feel your husband’s presence.

    Liked by 1 person

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