Heading south

Not literally (I wish I were) for I love to visit the South in summer and for many years I did, usually to Sanibel Island, where we had a place, in the Gulf of Mexico north of the Florida Keys. This summer I'd thought about us visiting there again as part of a return through Biloxi, but that's before the breakup. Now, I just dream about the South and its many charms.

No, I'm heading south emotionally, after some bad experiences converged to knock me off of the higher ground I'd recently achieved. It seems like every step forward is followed by two steps back. The cycle of emotions never stops, propelling me toward heights of hopefulness; then plunging me into dark depressions.

At least, I'm out in the world a bit, connecting with friends, eating well, sleeping better. Over the worst months of loneliness and sadness I dropped 30 pounds -- who says a broken heart isn't a serious illness? My apppetite disappeared, and I often skipped meals if no one was around to eat with me.

Sleep was erratic. My 3 a.m. nightmares all centered on losing her to another; that I had already lost her to someone; that the deep trust I'd placed in her was in fact misplaced. Somewhere along the way, I must have misplaced my own essential sense of balance.

I became unhinged.

Now, just when I thought I was better, there have been more setbacks, disappointments, confusions and sadnesses overtaking me. This is apparently the summer not of the South as my physical reality but very much the summer of my descent.