The Misery Index

Just a few months ago, during the great, gracious fall, my misery index was about a 3 (out of 10.) Most of of 2012, it hovered around a 7 or 8, unbearable but dependable, like the worst kind of cramps.

But September was glorious, starting with a vacation that was so centering, peaceful, lonely in the most comforting way, beautiful, relaxing and restful. I left Cape Cod, listening to Thunder Road on repeat, feeling known and ready for a leap forward.

A few weeks later, I was flying. Writing, blogging, meeting new friends, regeneration energy shooting in all directions (Doctor Who reference for all who don’t know that I am a nerd.) And, then, I hit the curb, my Tardis spun to a stop, my world got very small again. First thing, I did not panic. I reasoned that I was trying so much, that my fears and  habits of living life very carefully, of returning to the dark whenever the light got too bright, were reasserting control. Fight, fight.

But come November, I wasn’t exercising, my leg hurt, my writing group fell apart, my nascent writing group did not fall into line, the book group stopped meeting, I had no one to flirt with, dad had health issues, work felt claustrophobic, winter was coming. And, cherry on the sundae, my sister was still dead. Goddamn that last one.

Misery index spiked to about a 9 and the needle got stuck, timed to the beat of the holiday music. It cocooned me at night, fed me bags of potato chips, weakened my immune system, made me snap at my friends and family. I was late for therapy, early for evening drinks alone. The hum of sadness, grief and self-pity masking the drummer boys and sleigh bells.

So, there’s that. I am staring at 2013 and dreading this constant war with misery. Part of me wants to give in, to accept this half-life as the life I have made, to stop fighting and to accept it, and, by accepting, letting the needle land at around a 6, maybe a 7, until something jars it up or down, however briefly.

Or I can keep fighting, crawling and scratching into the daylight, towards the promise of spring, knowing that there’s a Cape Cod sunrise and friends who are waiting, adventure and discovery to come, and always, the belief that there’s a One.