Winter Blues: Overcoming the Negativity

     January.  Blah.  Nothing happens in January.  The last quarter of the year is filled with activities, parties and lots of food and then it just comes to a complete halt.  Deadness.  January is statistically the most depressive month of the year.  Not much to celebrate, no parties and we have gained ten pounds from always stating, "one more chocolate ball won't hurt."

  Last January, yours truly came down with a case of  the winter blues.  Again, I found myself in that all too familiar place after surgery.  That two week slump I could see coming, yet somehow managed to slip into each time.  I can say I never wallowed around in it, but I was partially coated in that dreary muck that lived in that slump I was speaking of. The anxiety I feel each time I pull myself down from the pain meds, the frustration of repeatedly losing the ability to walk and my coveted independence.
  

     To make matters worse there must have been a beacon over my home for negative individuals to come cast their spell of pessimism.  My goodness, I know by now that each person we come into contact with teaches us something about life, but why at that singular crossroad did they have to be sent?  I was already down and why send a couple of those gloomy souls so close together in time?  Those people need to be spaced out some.

     Near the end of my two week despondency, lying in bed around eleven thirty at night, feeling so low, so tired of going through this, so fed up with counteractive personalities, yet not willing to give up, words of my own began controlling my attention.  Those words met up and assembled themselves into an oppressive poem.  Writing poetry had been a past time, before kids, before a career, before my life became so entangled into the business of making a living that it came as a surprise to me that my mind conjured this up.

 Distrust in the Darkness

The stress is killing me

softly as I sleep

The stress is eating at me

slowly as I weep

It's there every night and every day

I beg. Please, please...please go away

Do I let it consume me

or do I keep fighting til the end?

I'm tired, so tired

do I have anything left to defend?

I do, I know this to be true

I'm tired, what more do I have to prove?

To myself, to others?

They don't realize I can be weak

I can do no right

so I turn the other cheek

Do I stand and fight

or do I give in?

I know the answer

I just don't know if I can.

     You can view above the exact conversation I was having with myself that night, only I did not talk to myself in a rhyming fashion.  Why were those gloomy souls introduced into my life at that crossroad?  Exactly that, because I was at a crossroads.  They were going to push me toward one side or the other.  It was up to me which way I let them push me.  Do I wade into the cold waters of misery with the group of cynics that dwelled there or do I grip the muddy sides of my slump, get a little dirty and claw my way out?   I knew the answer to my question, I believe most of us do, it's just do we have the strength to keep doing it? 

     Telling myself that everything is seen better by the morning light, I  promised that I would awake with a strong determination and a renewal of faith in my person.  

What did I learn from those prophets of doom?

They taught me to believe in myself the most, that life is always my choice and that inspiration can even come from them.  It sparked me to fight against their dismal outlook, to shut out the nay sayers and they motivated  me to write this poem that will now be published twice.  

Ninety-nine percent of the time I take the high road, but there are times you just want to look at those wishing for your failure, stick out your tongue and say, "Watch me" and maybe

 

 

                                                My
 

It's a New Dawn, a New Day, a New Year!

      A New Year!

    What I am about to write is not my originally intended post.  I was following the timeline of the year.  Sticking to New Years resolutions, which still ends up at the end of this column, just in a different manner than anticipated.
     When deciding to create a blog I accepted that this meant opening emotional scars, healing, criticism and hopefully encouraging others.  This is why I must be honest, painfully honest about my day yesterday.  New Years Eve.
     The day was filled with wonderful moments of sharing a couple of hours with our two middle children while watching them get beautified at the salon.  Listening to their teenage goofiness ends with me shaking my  head, but smiling none the less. 
 




(not a pic of recent hair changes, just the most recent one I could find of them together)

 Next was lunch at the Mexican restaurant with friends I may not get to see often, but pick conversation up with as if we were just visiting the day prior.

(gorging on Mexican food with laughter around the table is the best!)

 
      An afternoon nap was essential since my energy level is low after recovering from surgery. I awoke with my chest tight, my spirits low and an anxiety coursing through my body that I could not shake. Here is where my day takes a ninety degree turn from fantastical to bleh.

      A couple hours of fervently trying to rid myself of this mood, I acknowledged where I was. This same familiar place I pass through after every single flippin' surgery. 

      I'm in pain, from recovering and from two dopey falls in the past week. I've come down from the narcotics, my body is using all of its energy to heal, I am again dependent on others until I can walk again. I have seven more months of casts, air boots, braces, physical therapy and healing before I feel decent. Anger is waiting for me to let it completely take over, but something holds me back from letting myself adequately dive into it. 

      I live in the Jacuzzi bathtub due to my severe arthritis, trusting that this will decrease the pain and ease my apprehension, I slide into the steaming water. In a sense I am soaking out my anguish, except that my left leg is propped on the edge of the tub, owed to the red cast covering it, tears are brimming at the ledges of my eyelashes and the scars that ordinarily don't bother me are flashing like the vacancy sign in the hotel window.

      In a short amount of time, I have effectively made myself miserable. Just me, myself and I. I did this. Knowing from past lessons what I need to do to get myself out of this trench is not helping. This is crap. 

      When I make a conscious decision to step out, get back into my positive pace, a smile replaces my frown, a glint returns to my eyes and all is back on track. The first two years this would sometimes last for days, on occasion, weeks. The past year I could change it within hours, at the most, a day. 

      At the same time I establish that I will obligate getting out of this hole I've fallen into, my husband is right on cue with an hour of motivational coaching. To my dismay and his delight, I whisper that I perceive his words are correct, tears of release flow down my cheeks and I am spent. It's late and I am exhausted. I eagerly anticipate a new dawn on the horizon.

      I am in bed when the new year arrives. A cheerful realization cracks my thoughts. December 29th has come and gone. Without thinking, I wake my husband. I exclaim, "Husband! It's the thirty first!" His sleepy "uh huh" response really meant " No #*%! Sherlock"
      " Husband, the day passed and I didn't even think about it, not once." I am ecstatic. The day nor the six o'clock hour of the collision has haunted me this year!

      It's literally now a new day and new year. My muscles tense with exhilaration, my fists ball at my sides, I feel like I've just made the best play of a softball game. I point my finger at nothing into the darkness and say "You just try to keep me down! 2014, I am going to kick your BUTT!!!"


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