This year has passed slowly and quickly with paralyzing sadness and great happiness. Most of it was, to be totally cliched, a roller coaster. One of those old wooden ones that creaks and loses bolts.
I woke up this morning with the unpleasant realization that it’s October 1.
The beginning of my allergy season, and a week away from what would have been 12 years.
I’m already trying to figure out how I’ll feel next Monday, which is now just a regular day. A non-anniversary.
And I’m trying to figure out what to do. I’ll go to class for sure. But then will I sit alone to bear witness to what might be crazy feelings? Or will I try to distract myself from feeling anything?
Right now I’m fighting the urge to wall myself off from others, to disappear inside of myself, to check out for a couple of weeks.
My walk from the Metro this morning was a teary-eyed one. I worry about the rest of the week.
I revisited this post from last October, and I remember how being broken felt. I might feel sad now from time-to-time, but nothing like that. It was the most horrible period of my life. While I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, I’m glad to have swum through the depths of depression. Knowing the darkness I can feel allows me to appreciate the light like I never did before.