February is not my friend.  It’s never been my friend.  Not as a child when the dark, cold dreary-ness affected me to my core.  Not now when it feels like the longest month of the year — both personally and professionally.

February — twenty-eight days of struggle.  Annually.

Yesterday I nearly hit my breaking point — stopping for a minute to just put my head down and shake with unshed tears.  That hollow, silent, desperate sort of sob.  The kind that eclipses you at the very darkest, most lonely moment.  When everything you do feels like a failure.

Today, as I drove to work, it overwhelmed me again.  Just –this deep feeling of not being enough to anyone.  Not being strong enough to carry the work-load of my job, not being present enough for my puppy, who so lovingly takes care of me when I am down, not being able to maintain my credit score for mortgage rates and mortgage insurance rates — not being there enough for my mother and father and aunt as they face the barrel of a gun.  Just — not having the ability to be all things to everyone I love.  To be capable enough to handle work and personal finances and obligations.  Feeling as though I’m cracking from the inside out.

And that’s not even taking the MS and all that goes with it into account.  The shingles, the overwhelming heat and low lighting of my new office (neither things helpful for my MS and Optic Neuritis), the fatigue, the weakness — my body letting me down just when I need it the most.

The pressure of everything.

It is in these moments that I  know — no matter how many people I have who love me, who support me– I am the only person who can take care of me (you know, when it comes right down to it).  I am the only one who can scoop my battered being up and begin to heal things.

Sometimes I doubt that I know how to do that.  But little things, bit by bit, remind me of myself.  Chai lattes from Starbucks.  Show tunes on Pandora.  Breathing slowly and repeating my mantra over and over until I feel even again.  “Leg Warmers” hanging on my wall.  Breathing.

I make mistakes.  But at the end of the day, I do try my best.  And sometimes I will fail.  But more often, I will succeed.  And also, tomorrow is the last day of February.  Whew.