dysphoric

Today I learned, prompted by my medical report, that dysphoric is the opposite of euphoric. That’s me, apparently, clinically speaking.

Today, I also found the two pairs of pants and shirts that she bought me last January when I started my new job. We were afraid they had gotten lost in the move; I couldn’t believe that I would’ve been so careless as to lose them, but we didn’t know where they were. I found them in plain sight in the basement. I wanted to text her with the exciting news, as I would have in the before times. I’m writing to her instead, now, so I wrote today’s letter and told her all about it.

Doing so, I saw the tidal wave approaching on the horizon… I just had time to finish what I was writing, close the door, grab the tissues and her ashes, get down by her photos and let it pound me. Sometimes it happens that way and you have some warning. Other times it just takes your legs out and drops you like a ninja in the dark. Either way, you’re going down.

You think maybe if you go down under control, you can have a little bit of dignity, and maybe you do, but only until it starts.