The Visitor

Sometimes, I'll wake up in the mornings and realize that I'm no longer alone. I have a not-so-frequent visitor--one that is never welcome--and he knows just how to bring me down. Having him around makes it nearly impossible to get anything done: from blogging, to house work, to anything remotely fun. In fact, this not-so-frequent visitor really only makes me want to sit on my couch, buried beneath an afghan, wasting my day while dirty laundry and empty water bottles pile up around me like so much trash.

My visitor doesn't have a name, but if he had a face, I imagine he'd look something like this:

He makes me feel sad, worthless, and lethargic. Sometimes, he makes me so angry that I tremble. He brings with him all the bad feelings in the world and dumps them on my shoulders, clearly expecting me to carry his baggage throughout my day. 

Sometimes, my visitor shows up because of a repeating frustration in my life.

On most days, I can cope with these frustrations. I'll cry in the shower, or watch Firefly reruns on DVD, or vent to my husband, or join a cause that makes me feel like I'm making a difference. Exercise helps. Writing, too. Sometimes throwing paint on a canvas and pretending I'm an artist is all it takes to keep the visitor from latching on, dragging me down. 

On other days, I'm vulnerable. And I'm only one Huggies commercial, one Facebook rant, one angry customer away from succumbing completely to the visitor.

But sometimes, the visitor shows up, baggage in hand, for no real reason at all.

There I'll be, minding my own business, and suddenly---*knock knock.* And there's the visitor, ready to drag me down into the depths of despair over something as trivial as bad grammar.

Most of the time, I can kick the visitor out after a day or two of torment. Sometimes (like last week) it takes me a few days. Regardless, at some point he packs up and leaves, and I inevitably crawl back in to the sunlight. 

My life resumes as normal: writing blogs, cleaning my house, enjoying time with friends and family. Living, and loving, life. It will take me a few days till Abby gets her groove back. I can still feel the visitor's presence, vague as it may be. I think, maybe, he's always there, lingering in the background, waiting for a chance to pounce. I guess my job, now, is to keep myself busy enough, silly enough, happy enough, that there's nothing for him to pounce on. 

Not because there's anything wrong with being sad, or angry, once in awhile. But because I miss who I am, who I'm supposed to be, when the visitor is visiting.