Dear John,
I've been analyzing this periodic swing between unbearable pain and feeling positive about my life. (You're laughing, and getting ready to make a joke about me analyzing something. I know - I'm a head person - deal with it.) It seems to me that I have this injury that is painful and is healing very slowly. When it's been too painful for too long, somebody comes along and gives me a nerve block and lets the wound scab over. After a while the nerve block wears off and the scab gets pulled off, and I'm back in a fetal position eating Pop Tarts.
Right now I'm not shut down - I have plenty of emotion about everything else in my life. When it comes to you, I have some emotions, primarily gratitude to and for you, and taking a great deal of pleasure in memories. The rest of it is shut off. And I can't even enumerate for you what is shut off, because if I think of things and name the, the floodgates will open. When I'm numb, I can't go digging around where the scab is. I'll just get it bleeding again.
These times of numbness are generally viewed as the mind's way of protecting itself - before the circuits overload, the breaker takes over. I'm wondering if it isn't a gift of God, who knows me and knows which one I need now. It's a much simpler explanation, isn't it? Occam would approve.
In the painful phase, I'm gentle with myself - I don't do things that I'm not emotionally ready to; I make time for solitude; I keep Pop Tarts in the pantry; I see very few people. In the numb phase, being gentle with myself looks very different: I spend more time with other people, I try new things (like getting a cat), I'm more physically active, I cook more and eat healthier. In the pain phase, I curl into myself. In the numb phase, I get up, go out, and be with people. And I have more energy and feel better physically.

I'm late getting to bed - I'm subbing for Kathy at BNI tomorrow, so I'll be up at 5:30. Some sleep would be nice. I hope the critters cooperate. Please pray that I sleep well tonight.You sleep well, too.
Loving you, missing you,
Joan.
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