Happy Again
I debated talking about this, but in the spirit of openness here goes. This past weekend, I saw a picture of myself that I liked, where I thought I looked normal and happy. I was excited. Then yesterday morning, I looked in the mirror and liked what I saw. It was a giant paradigm shift. Let me explain. About two years ago at this time, I saw a picture of myself where I thought I looked like a haggard, unattractive, scrawny old man. It was depressing and scary. It continued over the next two years. Pictures, mirrors, they all showed me the same thing, and I hated looking.
I’m going to conjecture that the self-image issues had to do with post traumatic stress brought on by my late wife’s dementia and eventual demise. It was a losing battle with an inevitable outcome, natural in its course and causes. Still, it felt like an epic, personal fail, that I could have and should have done more. Hours of counseling pointed out the obvious, but the human mind is a stubborn beast. It told me I was old, everything was sagging, my wife was dead, it was my fault, the boneyard was right around the corner, and just what I deserved.
I think love brought me back. An unrelenting torrent of it from family and friends and kids. A constant diet of it. People wouldn’t let up. They just kept liking me. Inviting me places. Smiling at me. Hugging me. Loving me. Being glad to see me. Putting up with me. Looking past my faults. Letting me talk. Letting me sing. Calling. Texting. Smiling when they saw me. Love patched me up, filled me up, and made me happy in my own skin, and I finally saw it with my own two eyes in a picture and a mirror. Love won.