Falling, Will I Fall

September 13th and it is already sweater and coat weather.  That’s okay with me.  I prefer jeans.  Sweaters tend to be more forgiving of my bumps and lumps.  There are amazing family and homeschooling activities–apple picking, cider mills, color tours, pumpkin patch visits.  And the crafts are just so cozy.  I love to make things.  My skills are limited, but I try.  Yesterday, I picked up my loom knitting again.  I curled up on the couch and started in on a pretty cap.  In the summer, it feels like I am wasting the weather if I sit inside and craft, because alas, winter will come. But before that, our trees will become a waving canvas painted so many vibrant colors.  I love the colors.  I can’t imagine ever living somewhere that does not have the color change every year.  I.Just.Couldn’t.   Some of last years’ fun (we haven’t quite commenced most of this years’ festivities–I believe that will be fixed tomorrow. I love fall and it’s fun things, but it has a dark side. It always precipitates an upheaval in my mental health.  I feel heavier.  I feel like I am thinking and moving through thick apple butter.  It has been this way since Patrice was born.  By this point in her short life, I had stopped being able to sleep, I was crying in the laundry room and bathroom, anywhere I could hide from my girls.  Desperation clawed at the fraying edges. Four years later, the clawing continues.  Mentally and physically I get scared.  I feel like turtle, I need a shell to climb into.  Every moment of thinking is complicated. I am so excited about the season and so scared of the season all at once. Looming in my mind is that first hospitalization 4 years ago (exact date is Oct. 29)–how desperate I was for help, not getting help, on a journey that continues today.  I stand here at my computer wanting to scream that I need help, but all I can is whisper–it’s fall, will I fall apart?