Perfectly folded

In the evening, as the sun starts to think of sinking a bit in the sky, the breezes get a tiny bit cooler.  The cicadas are singing their unmistakable song of summer.  Families are starting to settle into dinner and watching TV together.  And a heaviness descends on my heart.  It starts small; almost imperceptible.  Then it becomes a few blinks of a headache, a fatigue, a "I just need to lie down for a bit".  Then, before you know it, hours have past, the sun has gone away, and my thoughts are hopelessly tangled up in despair.  Thoughts of "what if..."

"...maybe I should have stayed with my old doctor".
"What if I had started progesterone a few days earlier?"
"Should I have stayed on the paleo diet?"
"I did have a glass of wine last week..."
"Maybe this was my last chance."

Thoughts are invisible, but they are heaviest things in the world.

I see flickers of health in me, mentally.  But sometimes it is crying or acting crazy.  Or writing bad words over and over in my journal.  A lot of times it is avoidance, or transferring my feelings onto obsession with some unrelated thing - "I need to find the perfect PopSocket for my phone!".  Or "I need to read about the history of human interaction with sloths".  Today was "I need to organize all of my quilting fabric into perfectly folded five inch stacks.". 

All of this is an attempt to gain control over some small aspect of my life.  My heart has been drawn and quartered, I think, because I can't feel much today.  Not much at all.  Except a dull, heavy pressure. 

I want to fold myself into squares in lovely rainbow order.  I want to be organized and have my life put together.  I want to make baby quilts for my own babies, not just other people's babies.  I want all this stored up love to be tangible. 

God has taken my joys.  I do have a few more left, but they are small compared to my children.  So I focus on the tiny things - the mundane and meaningless things, because they are in my power.