I know I’m feeling better. The medication adjustments are working. I don’t wake up thinking, Why am I waking up, and I don’t spend hours confused and scared and referring to Chris as “this nice [stranger].” But the way I really know is that today I woke up at 4:30 AM, went to the kitchen, made a scramble (mustard greens, eggs, soft cheese, ground turkey), put a French press of coffee on, ate my half of the scramble, plated and covered Chris’ half, washed up, got dressed, and came to the couch to write a blog post. And it’s 5:37 AM. I went to bed at around 10:30 last night, unable to finish ten pages of Augie March, and dreamed about my book, which I’m doing a lot of lately.

It’s time to wake up, wake up, wake up, says my brain.

And I have so much gratitude for this series of days, during which I have smiled and laughed, and people tell me that I seem much lighter and less weighed down. I am thankful for my supervisors and bosses at work, who have been so understanding. I am thankful for my friends, who buoyed me. Of course, I am thankful for Chris and his incredible patience and gentleness, and his willingness to learn how to better care for me when I’m ailing — he has learned so much in the past few months, I think, even though we’ve been together for over a decade.

He is up now, and we are on the sofa. He is eating his scramble, and we’re drinking our coffee, and right now, I am suffused with the light of a winter slowly stitching itself into spring.