I have to say that 2015 was my least favorite year to date. Maybe that means 2016 is going to be a good one. With the new year I’ve decided that this blog could use a little overhauling, so I’m making some changes in the way I post here.
From now on, you’re going to get five posts a week instead of just two. This is a tremendous undertaking for me, both because of the writing and because of the mental and emotional tax that writing holds. I think it will be a valuable and important part of our upcoming year and I’m very excited about it.
On Mondays, I’m going to give you an update on what I’m doing for my own personal development. This could be anything from how I overcame an urge to drink, to a particularly important run I took, to my goals for the upcoming week. Having bipolar disorder and being a recovering alcoholic take a lot of energy and I’d like to start writing more openly about that.
Wednesdays are going to be for book reviews. One of my big goals in 2016 is to read fifty books, so to keep myself on track I’ve decided to start writing about what I’m reading. I hope these will be interesting, informative, and inspiring for you.
Then on Fridays I’m going to be doing guest posts. (Email ruby[at]rubybrowne.com if you’re interested in writing one.) These are a collection of pieces from other writers and bloggers that I love. I’m thrilled about this addition to my blog and hope you find some exciting new voices to follow.
Tuesdays and Thursdays will continue to be a collection of everything else. This is where you’ll find my poetry, talks about relationships, and all the mental health goodness you follow this blog for.
Hopefully this new format is stimulating and thought provoking for all of you. I’m ecstatic to put more time into this blog and this community growing up around it.
The morning after I got my glasses I went for a run. Still dark out, street lamps glowed gentle instead of starring across my field of vision. I listened to my music loud and ran hard, completely lost in my own rhythm. Flow state. Breath fogging up the corners of my glasses every so often and sweat forming behind my ears. Zedd’s vocalist crooned at me, “Something tells me I know nothing at all,” and I believed her.
I climbed the next hill and stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the first tree. Drops of water clinging to the tips of every branch, illuminated by the traffic lights. Each twig sparkling. Vibrant. Magical. As close to a religious experience as I’ve ever had. A cross between being high on drugs and being completely in love. Enamored with beauty.
It occurred to me that my blurred vision looked a lot how depression feels. All soft around the edges, out of focus, detached. Like I was never really looking at anything, just the general shape of it. How lucky that vision is something that can be helped with two pieces of plastic and frames. How all I had to do was put them on and see everything different.
But maybe everything doesn’t have to be so simple. Maybe we wouldn’t appreciate it if it were. Maybe other things need to take a little bit more work. Glasses are really just a Band-Aid solution for something broken, aren’t they? And that’s not what I’m looking for out of life.
So I find ways to keep building up my foundation. To keep finding little hints of beauty outside of things that I see. That feeling I get when I realize I haven’t curled up on the floor sobbing in days, maybe weeks. The moments when I’m able to say, “Isn’t it interesting I think that?” when I’m anxious instead of following the thought down its rabbit hole of panic.
Over the phone an old friend asks me hesitantly how I’ve been. That tone people get then they think they’ve just asked a really stupid question. I laugh and tell him, “You know. Not bad. I started taking Prozac a few weeks back and… You know, it’s not like I’m happy, but I don’t want to not exist. And that’s pretty awesome.”
On my run I think about that question. Think about that answer. Think about liking the idea of existing in the world. Staring at that tree, watching sparkle and light dance on what used to look like one flat, unremarkable thing.
Ruby Pipes 