***Stronger***

Now I'm stronger than yesterday
Now it's nothin' but my way
My loneliness ain't killin' me no more

I, I'm stronger
(Lyrics copyrighted by Britney Spears and all rights belong to her as per U.S. Copyright law.)

It's over.

For the past few months I had not been exactly in the right frame of mind. I've been tired, snappish, uninterested in most aspects of my life, listless, etc., emotions that any sane person would have seen a psych quickly. But being the type of person I am (stubborn) and whom I've chosen to share my life with (a physician), and the fact that there was some semblance of normancy, I continued on, partially hoping the emotions would straighten out and knowing that they would.

I've been through this cycle in the past many times. I don't handle stress effectively, tending to become extreme. I either ignore the stressor(s) or over-react to it (them), rarely allowing myself the perspective to step back and see the middle road. In either case, I make myself miserable and life a living hell for my spouse.

But that's not the topic of this post. Instead, I want to discuss what I got out of this episode.

The cliche , "what doesn't kill me makes me stronger" is appropriate to my returning sanity but with a twist. If you've been following my posts for the past couple of months, you've noticed I've been working out, working on my novels, visiting friends, engaging in what appears to be worthy activities. But that's not the case. My true reason was to distract my inner turmoil by forcing myself to focus on the external world. (Let's see your mind wander when you're bench-pressing a third of your weight or moving to beat and in sync with your cardio instructor/former hip-hop dancer.) And it worked; I can't count how many times I felt refreshed after a writing session/work-out/etc. Unfortunately it never lasted and back I was to chaos.

Second cliche: the mind's a muscle. Apparently, bit by bit, all that activity--specifically, all that focusing--began to put things in perspective. I felt less discomfort, more relaxed, a return to my "normal" pleasant but sometimes witless self. But the feeling of stability continued to elude me until this morning. I couldn't sleep, thoughts pulsing in my head like strobelights. Finally, I clicked on my beside lamp. I looked at the piles on my side of the bed for a book to distract me. For the past couple of week's I had been reading It's Not Funny If I have To explain It. Amusing at a time I wanted such light fair. Unfortunately, like whip cream, it became unsatisfactory very, very quickly. I wanted something more filling.

So I picked up my copy of A House Is Not A Home, one of the numerous books I had picked up in L.A. last weekend. I read the dust jacket, then the first chapter. By the end of the third chapter, I was hooked. By the end of the fourth, I sense my Muse working in my mind, going over scenes of my latest work-in-progress (WIP). (For those who don't know, I've dropped my fantasy novels for a while to concentrate on a love story.)

I was elated. My Muse had been sluggish for the past few weeks despite my writing efforts. But of more importance was the realization that everything was coming together: the home, the finances, writing, fitness, etc., that--while I didn't feel it at the time--everything was moving the direction I aimed it to go.

Yes, I recognize this could be just another "feel-good at the moment" blip. Yes, I may be setting myself up for another session of "moroseness". But I know I'll get out of that, too.

And I'll be stronger.

(Image found on the Internet and all rights belong to its owner.)