Having a history. Oh i have a history. I type and type. I hit the delete button. Back and forth. This great desire to share, to help, to unfold the crinkled, tossed papers full of sad, sad tales.
I am a white knuckle driver. The endless highway unfolds stories, i have trouble breathing, the cars are surely going to swerve, send my body flying. Breathe.
The other day (windows down, music loud) i felt the chemicals in my brain begin to shift. For a period of time i felt the emptiness of depression begin to unravel. Pulling over i jumped out of the car. Slamming the door on bad thoughts. I walked across the field, feeling the sharp sting of cold, cold air on sad, sad lungs.
I often make the mistake of thinking all of that is behind me. I am happy. I am a runner. I am well.
Cracking icy puddles in my favourite boots i accept that one day i won’t be able to outrun that sickness. That my chemicals will someday get the best of me, again. I can laugh and i can run. I can love and i can cry. I can do all the right things and i can do all the wrong things. I do all those things very well.
{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
It’s true that maybe one day you won’t be able to outrun the chemicals in your brain…but while knowing and accepting, you also know that it doesn’t have to own you. That in itself is powerful.
I am well. I am incredibly well. I am so grateful and happy for this. There will come a day when that won’t be the case. I am aware of that. And knowing that is power over the debilitation; that it doesn’t own me, doesn’t rule me and there will be wellness again. There will be…breathe. Run. Breathe.
That is part of what makes you so beautiful. Its a sticky balance. It makes you.