I will start with a disclaimer. Mr Wednesday is kind, loving, generous and hard-working. He’s a good husband. I’m very happy with the man I sometimes call “Himself.”
And now, on with the story.
I have said before that, through this lockdown, my husband and I have taken regular lunchtime walks along the river. Last Tuesday was no exception.
The sun was shining but there was a bitter wind blowing and both the air and the weather forecast carried the threat of rain. We set out late morning and walked briskly.
The day had started well, so I couldn’t quite understand why I was suddenly in a bad mood. My husband made some comment about a neighbour and I promptly bit his head off. He retreated into hurt silence for a few minutes but then, never one to bear a grudge, started the conversation going again.
The poor man had to endure 40 minutes of monosyllabic mutters and empty silences. Everything he said annoyed me. It was a conscious effort to keep my mouth closed over all the rage and venom churning up inside.
We stopped and looked at the river, now back to its placid, pre-flood, gentle flow. I imagined giving him a little push into that cold water – just to teach him. Then, I realised, I’d have to help him out. It wouldn’t be a life-threatening situation, but we’d both get very wet, very cold and very uncomfortable. I decided I wasn’t serious about pushing him in. Not really.
We turned around at the playing field on the edge of town and trudged back. I zipped my lips tight over all the vile vomit of insults longing to spew over him. The walk home was a fuming volcanic misery.
We turned into our road and started to walk towards our house. Two hundred yards away I stumbled. A stabbing pain behind my left eye stopped me dead. The vomit of hatred was replaced by real nausea. As the physical symptoms of the migraine hit, my bad mood evaporated like steam from a kettle. I had to get home fast, and I had to lie down in the dark.
Some people get visual disturbances before a migraine – zigzags or flashing lights; it’s called an aura. My aura is neurological, and I don’t always identify it. If I can catch it early enough and take medication before the physical symptoms descend, then the severity of the attack is reduced. With pain relief, the mood dissipates – almost instantly.
My point here is that my mood – the annoyance, hatred and venomous thoughts – was caused by a physical condition. When people tell us that we can control our thoughts and emotions, sometimes we can’t.
I do believe we can control our actions however, which is why we both reached home warm and dry. And not just because the rain held off until we were safely indoors.
A Moodscope member.