It’s hopeless. Empty. You turn the key over again and again, but the car still doesn’t start.
You’ve tried everything. The things that used to work don’t work anymore. Frayed rope wrapped around your knuckles. Hang on to it.
At the end of the day I stand in the kitchen and stare at a counter full of dirty dishes. Knees weaken, my throat catches. It’s just too much. Like everything. Paralysis. And I catch myself wondering if any of it matters anyway.
The medication, the therapy, the long walks around the lake. The exercise, the diet. The writing, the communication, the skill-building. The revised work schedule, the closed windows. Firing on all cylinders, but still feeling nothing.
I put my hands on Mason’s shoulders and look up at him. “I can do this, right? Tell me things will be different.” He does. Pulls me tight into him again. Kisses the top of my head and rocks me softly.
Alyssa texts me reminders of the things I love. Tells me about the passionate and beautiful parts of myself that are just tired and quiet, not gone forever. Promises this isn’t my new permanent.
So I take a deep breath. I pick up a dirty spoon, a fork, a knife. I take the plates and put them in the dishwasher. The glasses, too. I wipe the counter and spray out the sink. Everything is monumental and I’m just not big enough. But one piece at a time, I do it anyway.
13 thoughts on “Rev”
your posts appear whole in my email, but I come over to read them on wordpress because I might want to comment, and then I’m here.
I always want to comment, but I don’t know how. It’s like with anything we haven’t personally experienced; our words are not necessarily helpful and, if we are decent people, we certainly cannot bear to say something by mistake that might be hurtful.
I have glimpsed great depression and anxiety, but situationally. I understand only a bit of what you are going through, a glimpse.
So know I am always reading and thinking about you. If I knew what to remind you of I would, if i knew the right words i would say them…
but i am here . I am holding the hope of better days for you.
And I admire you for just keeping on, trusting others who love you. And sharing your remarkable journey so openly.
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Oh, honey. That is exactly what to say. ❤
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What they said!
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I’m here reading and thinking of you.
I think you’ve just proven you’re big enough 🙂
Thank you, Heather.
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One day at a time. You can do it.
It’s so true that the things that used to work don’t anymore (metaphorically and otherwise)
On a personal note (which I hope is ok to comment on and doesn’t bog you down) I was just reading that the coping skills of a child who went through abuse indicate strength not weakness, but as the child grows those “survival mechanisms” usually don’t work and need to be replaced by healthier ones. So, this is actually encouraging… in that we get to discover new things that do work and won’t have to worry about what doesn’t anymore. The letting go of what we are accustomed to feels so hard and the grieving process has to happen… but your awareness in your blog is like a lantern through dark caves… and we all get to tap into what will lead us to our authentic selves, hopefully. I hope this comment isn’t sounding too “vicarious” as I don’t mean to camp on your experience.
What I really want to say is:
You are love. Keep writing please.
You are remarkable. I deeply admire your bravery and courage for so openly sharing everything that you are going through. Your words touch something in my heart. Don’t ever give up on yourself!
Thank you so much, Lulu. That means a lot to me. I’ve been feeling anything but brave and courageous lately.
Depression is a slog through Mordor, the Ring hanging heavy on your neck. It seems endless, it seems pointless…
But you, in your very deepest you, know it is neither of those things. So you slog.
That you can speak so frankly and beautifully about your experiences, that you keep [slogging through the wastes] keep on to the Mount….that is so so so courageous.
I can offer no advice. No leavening.
I can offer empathy, and an appreciation for what you are going through.
Depression [the Ring] lies. Always and always. That is it’s nature.
If the words of a random Internet stranger help, then hear them: I believe in you. I believe you will make it through. You will slough off this load and you will thrive.
<pardon my comparisons. I’ve been movieing and reading a lot in my own current Hobbiton of anxiety-hide>
All the words.