David's moods often reminds me of winter weather. Like overcast skies and stormy days, his mood lately has been mostly gloomy with occasional patches of light. He's been struggling again with depression, more hallucinations, and an obsession with my body image.
This particular round has also been hard on me, and I realize that I need to explore some better coping techniques. Part of the problem for me has been that daily verbal attacks mostly about my weight, and ongoing financial challenges has taken a toll on my sense of worth.
On days when I wonder how I can keep going, I remember the words of a poem that one of my favorite high school teachers, Richard Pratt, taught me years ago:
I can't—a poor, pale, puny imp
Too lazy to work and from every duty does shirk.
I can—a giant, unbending he stands.
And he can conquer who thinks he can
In spite of the throngs who doubt him.
As with all storms, however, this one seems to be lifting at last, and I see some signs of improvement. Yesterday when I came home from work he surprised me with these flowers! I seldom get flowers, and I especially appreciate these:
It's a welcome reminder that every storm eventually ends.
