A Glimpse of Light in the Dark

My blog is an invaluable tool in my recovery. I began it on a whim; because all of my friends were, it seemed, and it was time for me to join the blogolution, I was told. I was violently against journaling, and I was wary to begin a blog because it seemed, essentially; like online journaling – I mean really, it is.

But I began it. Hesitantly. And I found, quite suddenly and surprisingly, that I loved it. Passionately. It became an outlet for me, something to focus on rather than the killer inside me, anorexia. It began because “everybody was doing it,” and it transformed into a path to self-discovery. I was able to see through the haze of calories and bones and weight loss that there was more to me. I learned that I could be funny. I realized I very much enjoyed writing satirical pieces. And what’s more, people liked to read my blog. I have had many emails from people all over the world whom I’ve never met thank me for my blog and the humor and hope I write about. I was humbled. And awed. I was making a difference, however small. I was something more than anorexia.

So in April I began my quest once again for weight gain, for real and true recovery (whatever that is). And you all watched and cheered as I got a feeding tube placed, as I slowly but surely gained weight and regained health. Some of my posts were happy and funny, and some were sad, and perhaps a little melancholy as I came to terms with weight gain and some un-fun things in my life. I’ve felt unsteady with my new body, and you all kept me going, kept gently reminding me that life was worth it.

But then.

This past month has almost been unlike anything I have ever experienced before. The depression I am wandering through is heavy, consuming. All-encompassing. It stifles me, presses its profound weight on me so that it suffocates me and I can hardly move my hands or legs or head, for the weight of it wearies me. I vacillate between an endless darkness with no light in sight to an anxiety that is so jarring, so razor-sharp, that it sends me to the bathroom hyperventilating and vomiting.

I do not know what is wrong with me. I only know that I have been desperately trying to hold on, with the help of my friends and my family and my treatment team. I (finally) see my psychiatrist later this week, and the will-power it has taken to make it through to my appointment with him has taken more indomitable strength than I believed I possessed.

My parents have been fervently praying for me. My husband, so worried, has not been able to work because I could not be alone, and, in this state, could not work either. He murmurs a prayer for me every few minutes, and continually keeps me in his heart.

And then.

And then and then and then.

Today, at 3:34 pm, the fog lifted. Just a little. I could see light. I could see that there is goodness in my life and in this world, even if it is far from me at present.

I smiled. I laughed. I picked up Cade and threw him in the air and gave him hugs and kisses.

I did a load of laundry.

I showered without being prompted by Brandon to do so.

And I sat down to write this blog.

To let you know that
It’s going to be
okay.