When I have bad days, when the old depression flares up and my mental state crumbles, my breath changes. I can’t tell myself, but my husband tells me it’s quite clear. Sometimes he can even feel the change before I have fully realized that it’s more than just having a bad mood. It turns sour, he tells me. Smells like illness.
It’s not due to a change in diet, nor due to something as simple as forgetting to brush. It’s me.
Tells you something about how direct the connection between psyche and body is, doesn’t it?
On a brighter note, I do feel a bit better. The elephant has stepped off my chest, replaced now by… a medium sized dog. Less painful. Easier to breathe. Easier to think.Still uncomfortable, but… bearable.
The husband agrees. He can still feel the ill smell on my breath but it’s not as bad as yesterday, or worse – the day before. I’ll take that as a good sign!