The sun finally broke through all that is wrong with winter.
It was like God himself said “This city has had enough Mother Nature,” and He just parted the thick grey murky clouds and flipped on the light.
If I was a cowgirl, I’d take a rope and lasso the sun; pull it in and give it a hug.
My pastey reflection in the mirror could use a good skin burning and hell, I don’t need eyebrows.
Just kidding. I love my eyebrows and my eyebrow technician. I don’t know what you call those people who make eyebrows look magnificent. My person is like the Picasso of Eyebrows. I don’t trust myself with sharp objects near my face.
Case in point: Grade 10
Anyways, my eyebrow person is a Saint. I made an appointment to see her next week because I’m depressed as hell and my kid said I was growing a grey one.
But that sun though is wonderful.
I’ve noticed that in my every day stay-at-home mom/ chronic pain/ mental case/ blog writer person adventures (which are actually not that adventurous) that people in my city are embracing it too.
I talked to a person at the grocery store for at least 20 minutes about a roller skating rink that used to be in our city. We talked about the classic jams that they used to pump through the big bulky speakers and how we used to hunt down boys to hold hands with as we skated to songs like “November Rain” – longest slow song EVA!
I was even bumping into people with my shopping cart because I always get the cart with that one wheel that wasn’t meant for wheeling in straight lines. People got the *boop* in the *rear* and would turn to apologize to me for it.
I saw people helping other people get things off of the shelves.
Other people letting other people cut in line who had less items then they did.
It’s like I walked into an episode of “The Twilight Zone”
At my son’s therapist appointment, I got swooped into a conversation with a boy and his mom who owned a 100 year old violin. He said it calmed his anxiety. I met a grandma who had tightly pinned her blonde curls up at the top of her head. Her voice was loud and infectious and bounced off every corner of the room. She had almost reminded me of my own grandma. She was 80 years old she said and had made homemade soup for her granddaughter because it was her favourite.
This is a room that is dead silent aside from the book pages being flipped by anxious little hands waiting their turns or the antsy in the pansty siblings accompanying them who need to eat everything in the vending machines.
I always feel so dreadfully alone there but it felt good to talk. So good that I almost cried.
I hope that the sun keeps shining in our city. It won’t cure my depression.
In fact I know that I’m going to need something more – a new medication, an adjustment, I don’t really know. I just know that I am not well enough to just keep hoping that the sun will fill me up, and to keep thinking that spring will be just around the corner and every mid-morning, or afternoon, or night I keep reminding myself that “Tomorrow will be a better day.”
That’s not a way to live.
I need more help.
So I nervously emailed my doctor yesterday and I see him tomorrow.
The forecast for our city looks pitiful in the next few days but I still have a sliver of hope.
I hope that the sun tries to bust through.
I hope everyone remembers that feeling the sun gave them – that lift – and that they remember that it will come back.
And that people keep being kind to one another because we need each other.
That they keep acknowledging each other as they pass by.
When you go out this week, do me one favour:
Try to make at least one stranger feel visible – say hi to them, hold the door open for them, maybe even compliment their coat or hair or shoes, etc – because some days, to some people, that means so much.
*If you’re not feeling yourself, please don’t keep waiting for tomorrow. There is help out there for you. Please reach out. You do not have to be suicidal to call the suicidal hotline – you can call there just to talk. You can just go to their site to get a lot of valuable information. You are not alone.*