I get very restless in the spring. The sun begins making an appearance and everyone moods lift, yet mine unexpectedly shifts a different way. although I should learn to expect it by now. i’m an hsp. hyper sensitive person. change positive or negative, is hard for people like me. Even the onset of spring can make me feel funny and out of sorts. it’s mostly a subtle tugging feeling that something is wrong. Or that something unsettling lingers beneath the masks that make up life as i know it. sometimes I have to word vomit copiously to anyone who will listen until I eventually reach the real cause of the problem.
I found myself feeling rather sad and melancholy a few weeks ago. I couldn’t articulate what was wrong but whenever I tried to explain I ended up repeating/stemming on one mundane memory from years ago. I was in my husbands old apartment, i opened the door and he was siting on the dilapidated couch inside the small and untidy space. he would always look at me as i opened the door and open his arms gesturing me to sit with him. there would always be a steaming pile of food ready for me, as i returned from work. We would sit together and watch something silly at days end. During that time i remember an odd feeling creeping in like i was “home” a strange feeling to me because we weren’t even serious then, it wasn’t my home at the time.
My home was the attic in an old building,a hot room with low ceilings you had to slouch to walk through. furnished only with a mattress on the floor where i slept mice gnawing and scurrying round my room in the dark. below i would hear my roommates, strangers i had found on craigslist, pacing around discussing the lack of food in the cupboards. Never had i been so sure what “alone” really was, and i would pray quietly on the verge of sleep each night for acceptance and improvement in my quality of life. though i worked hard, it never seemed to be quite good enough for me not to go hungry. and though i tried my best i didn’t have much in the way of close friends to confide in or feel supported by.
Yet here was this person, suddenly, who wanted nothing more than for me to be around always. he never gave me a reason to leave, and always gave me a dozen reasons why i should stay. My plan was always to be single a life devoted to other achievements instead. so far, in my early twenties id never been in love even really believed in it. I felt a strange twinge in my heart, an ache in the back of my throat really…at the thought that when i was with this person, in this room, i was home. it was both a startling and stunning revelation.
Gradually my things moved there over time one by one. each object welcomed by the inhabitant. one winter day i walked through the doors to find my art easel set up in a corner of his tiny apartment with drop cloth beneath. i cried a little, as it was a grand gesture to me for someone to accept even my art mess into their dwelling. id always been frowned upon in my life for being rather messy, and id been through long bouts of being antisocial due to giving time to art instead.
We were engaged by that fall. after getting married we moved to what was a better apartment. though i cried my eyes out upon leaving it for the last time. the place being gone symbolized the time being gone for me. Eventually recalling all these things stemming from the the memory of the daily sitting on the couch, i realized i was upset because the couch was gone.
Such a silly thing, the couch with broken boards, paint stained back, and gaping hole. It represented a precious time to me, the beginning of things. Somehow i felt the couch being gone to be an epic loss. Of course it was an unexpected feeling that took me days to track down. My husband laughed and said ” i was waiting for it. i knew you would get upset about the couch.”
That’s the trouble with being transparent, sometimes people close can know how you feel before you yourself know it. change troubles me. Yet i always think it wont. I’m not sure why spring of all seasons is worst. The fall moving slowly seamlessly into winter, with the distraction of holidays never harms me. Even summer doesnt phase me, a season i don’t particularly like, since i have to be laden with sunscreen and carry and umbrella.
Only Spring…all i can do is realize that i have the blues because of the season. Maybe also because we are in process of buying our first home. On the surface i am happy about it. i am in fact, happy about it. but i know i will ultimately feel melancholy because of change and time passing yet again.
I’ve got a rather stormy and unpredictable heart, and for some reason, storms always seem to brew with springs new rain.