I’m missing me. . .

You know when you’re in a dark room and you feel disoriented and can’t distinguish one thing from another? Even in a room you know well? In your bedroom, you know exactly where each piece of furniture is placed. You know where clothes are left of the floor and the spot where a cord reaches across in peril.

But when the lights are off, all you see is the darkness. There is a bed to walk around, but how far does it go? Clothes usually land somewhere around here. . . are they right in front of me or to the left? My beautiful smoky purple walls look exactly like my yellow bookshelf and my white mirror. The wall that was obvious in the light can only be guessed at by a hand reached out in exploration.

It takes so much longer to walk in a dark room. It takes so much energy to navigate around danger.

Depression is the darkness that darkens every room. I miss the light.

I miss joy.

I miss wonder and peace. And energy and vision.

Perhaps, most of all, I miss hope. Hope is incredibly veiled without light.

I miss how the funky nail polish on my toenails made me smile. I miss waking up in the morning with excitement for my day. Or even energy to want to get out of bed. I miss flipping through cookbooks, imaging flavors coming together and dreaming about when I could create in my kitchen.

I miss clarity of thought. And passion.

I miss me. A lot.

I’m a week into my intensive counseling. It’s been. . . intense. There is someone fighting to breathe hope into my heart. All I can offer are tears and exhaustion to join him. Just showing up is all I have right now. But I’m doing it.

2 thoughts on “I’m missing me. . .

  1. Terrifying.
    I remember the feeling when I started to believe that the light was NEVER on the room. That the lights had always been off. Even that I’d never left the room–that I had been walking around in that small bedroom for my whole life. It wasn’t true, but it was so awful that I started to believe it.
    The lights were not always out.
    And they won’t stay off forever.
    Keep doing the hard work. You’ll see that yellow bookshelf. You’ll even leave “the bedroom” and discover the rest of the house.

    Best of all (and forgive me if I’m taking the metaphor too far), you might even be able to do enough renovations so that there are windows in every room–with beautiful Florida sunlight pouring in and casting natural light everywhere.

    It is worth the fight and worth the wait.

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