Its 2017 now. Most of the time since my previous posts is a blur of slight ups and downs, sickness and unfortunately bad decisions. I expected my life to be ready for me to live it by now by I’m still waiting. Still in the holding pattern. I’m having a particularly hard time right now because due to my beloved son, I have had painful and humiliating cystic acne for 2 years now. Despite the contraindication of my suicidal tendencies in the past, I am in my 3rd month of the hell that is Accutane. They ain’t joking when they say that this medication f-cks with you.
My grasp on life has not been particularly tenacious of late. For the past week, I have felt like I’m lying on the bottom of a black tornado with a ferociously swirling black abyss on all sides and above me, with a little pin prick of light far far away. If I didn’t strive for that light, i would just be swept under and into the black. If you are familiar with this feeling, than you know that the light is not filled by the happiness readily available in your life. Depression is like an immunity to your own personal joy. When I’m at my worst, i need to escape, to find something outside myself and my circle to connect to. Something to keep me steady and out of the abyss. So on these days when I can’t find my “nice voice” for my kids, when I’ve forgotten how to smile at their laughter, and everything around me is grey and faded, sometimes its the silly or mundane or simply simple that becomes your buoy. This week my buoy was Prison Break.
It had been in my netflix queue for years but as I lay in bed, trying to get out of my own head, I turned it on for distraction. And it performed its job perfectly. It’s a f-cking fantastic show. What i was most surprised by was my fascination with the main character. Now i have to acknowledge that Wentworth Miller is a fine specimen of a man. That being said, he’s not my type. So I couldn’t put my finger on what it was that drew me so to his character or the actor himself because I knew it wasn’t physical attraction. I watched and watched the show, and it did succeed in focusing me on the tiny spot of light. After several episodes (who am I kidding, it was 2 seasons), I opened W’s Facebook and ran right into why I’d connected with him. My pain had recognized his pain.
I found a treasure trove of beautifully articulated thoughts I hadn’t been able to articulate. I found insight and similar opinions and values. He even wrote like me (at times). He has these essays that are hard to find in his page but I read them all. I cried first. I don’t cry when I’m depressed because I get more numb and full of hopelessness than sad. Just the crying (in itself) was such a release. Then I laughed, because I recognized some of my own truths. And I learned. I learned about Intersectionality; that there is a word for all the labelled roads, boulevards, and dirt paths that make up my current self and all other previous and future variations of me. I learned about self care, and death speak and life speak, and holding space for others.
But the best thing that I learned (rediscovered rather) is how much I love words. How much words can matter. And a reminder that I don’t have to be perfect to throw words out into the world. I might not have the capacity for creativity that I once had but something is better than nothing. And I need to have this in my life again.
I especially need to focus on fixing what’s going on with my mind and my heart. To focus on how to interact with my world and my space in it. The rest will come later.