Heavy Thoughts

January has been a long and difficult month.

I have no idea why. Perhaps it's the weather: temperamental and moody, given to flashes of nasty. Kinda like me. These days, I am feeling moody and every day I am faking something: cheer, understanding, clarity.

Sigh.

I struggle occasionally, with the winter blues, although I thought that last year was the worst I'd see. Last year, I thought I was prepared for second anniversary of my brother's death.

I was wrong.

This year, I am more prepared for the emotional wallop of missing him, of replaying that terrible day, when my world changed forever  but I am also terrified by it. This year, these long, cold weeks leading up to February 10th have almost (again) been my undoing:

I am unfocused and unmotivated at school, at home, at life.

Last week, I exercised twice and both times, it took EVERYthing I had to propel myself to go. At home and at school, I cannot summon up the enthusiasm to truly participate. I feel off-kilter, fuzzy and vaguely paranoid.

I yell.

Intellectually, I know that there are a number of factors contributing to this brief (please God, let it be brief) peine de coeur -  ti's the season, after all, for the winter blues. The holidays are over, money's tight, the monotony of routine yawns long before me, I'm thinking of Andrew, the laundry has overwhelmed me, the Reds are feistier than usual, blah, blah, blah...  This is what my mind tells me.

The rest of me doesn't care about any of it.

The rest of me doesn't want haul laundry baskets down the stairs, nor plan the week's menu or go for a long, brisk walk in the sunshine. Fuck that, says the rest of me. I just wanna sit here, in this patch of sunlight, watching dust motes dance.

And, says the rest of me, I want to eat. It's a frightfully strong compulsion, actually. Even as my brain registers what's happening, it's like my body is a separate thing, desperately longing for all things substantial and sweet: chips, bread, cheese, potatoes.  Baileys.

The rest of me scrambles to swallow the grief that rises, unexpectedly and at odd moments, but swiftly - always so goddamned swiftly - into my throat.

Down! Down! Stay down!

I will do anything, eat anything, to keep this grief at bay. I will eat mounds in order to shove grief and other feelings back down, away from the places where someone (including me) might see.

 I try to smother them with yummy breads and pastries for these carb-filled foods are heavy and dense and fill up the spaces left aching and empty, otherwise.

Wait.

What?!?! What the hell did I just type there?

Did I just write that?

Yes, yes I did.

Is it true?

Yes.

Yes, it is.

I am absolutely flabbergasted by this sudden insight into the "why" behind my weight. It's not, of course, the only reason I'm fat, because I know that my own lack of self-control and stick-to-it-iveness certainly don't help matters. And while I've  referred to myself as an emotional-eater before, I've never actually understood it.

But this  - this horrified realization that I am choking out my own heart - literally and emotionally -well... it has simply stunned me.

What an awkward, awful, truly astonishing truth. Wow.

I am embarrassed.  And crying. (And eyeing the calendar, trying to determine if this is actually PMS, run amok. Could this Hell be hormonally-induced?)

Mostly, I am questioning my sanity at publishing this post, for all the world to see.

But...

For the first time in many, many weeks years, I feel lighter.

And it feels...good.

And you? How do you cope with the winter blues?