photo by Patricia
My thought was to choose not to fall into a winter depression which often begins as early as August. That is not to be. Up at 4 am, my stomach gurgling with what was put in it earlier, stuff that shouldn’t have been eaten, sleep would not return. Only worries, one after the other, always darker and more worrisome in the middle of night, toppling over each like pebbles down-sliding into rocks then boulders.
You cannot escape yourself. As much as the want is to be a happier person, more upbeat, and easier with life, that is not how things are for me. My broken brain needs care and attention.
On the full spectrum lights go in the morning, something that has been put off in my denial of how things are and have always been throughout adulthood. My crazy eating patterns won’t magically stop either, but need work and constant monitoring. Overeating like last night is similar to getting good and drunk, same thing. Too much of something to avoid something else.
My crazy rat brain likes to spin in her wheel. Lying there trying to meditate, moderating the breath, the thoughts spin through. Moments of OK-ness come with hope and a resurgence of strength, only to disappear one moment later. And that is not unusual, the yin and yang, mine so disparate it can be hard to bridge the chasm.