Sometimes it isn’t enough to do the right things. Sometimes the fog rolls in anyways.
I went to yoga this morning, after sending the kids off to school. I arrived late. Class had already begun and I scrambled to lay out my mat and catch up without disturbing the room. I was preoccupied for the full hour. I want to cry, which is not really in my nature. My depression is generally stoic, unemotional. I usually take my SSRI in the mornings, but yesterday I forgot until the afternoon. Today bare the consequences of forgetfulness.
Jack is sick again. He suggested it is from a lack of sleep, or from stress. He stresses over the uncertainty of his future. I want to assure him that I’ll be here when he gets back if he goes abroad. But I am afraid that I might might not be among the things he fears losing. I want to tell him that I want to be with him, but I’m afraid that he doesn’t feel the same. I’ve realized that he doesn’t tell me about the things that stress him. We joke and we watch TV and we sleep together and we keep our distance when we’re around our friends. But he doesn’t reveal much of himself to me. I know that that’s telling. I feel sad, which is good. I hate feeling nothing.
I did everything right today. I had a healthy breakfast and drank my coffee slowly. I went to yoga and walked around the city in the sun. I checked off half of my week’s to-do list. I walked a dog and returned the kids’ library books. Maybe tomorrow I will reap the benefits of doing everything right today.