It took nearly ten years of being miserable
and much too hard on myself,
but it’s been twelve months now and it’s safe to say
I’ve beat the devil inside me.
It happened when I decided it was time.
I was done living a life of despair,
claiming the world was out to get me.
I took a year.
I learned who I am and what my limits are,
I set boundaries when I had my low tides,
I didn’t beat myself up when I got sad,
I treated myself the way I’d treat an injured dog or child.
I was gentle, careful not to hurt further,
and now I’ve got all these coping skills.
I’ve got all these ways I can survive
without falling into a pit of depression yet again.
I’ve got a lot to show for it
but most of all,
I’m just glad I’m myself for what feels like the first time.
I travelled across the states
searching for a feeling.
A feeling I knew I could feel
because I’d felt it once before
years before it all went downhill.
I knew the feeling in dreams,
in books, in shows, in movies,
but I’d be lying if I said I felt it anymore.
I know I’m not miserable,
I’m not hopeless or destined for failure,
but when the sun sets, what’s left?
I remember motivation like a childhood memory,
it’s a foggy feeling I can vaguely comprehend,
so I go on walks, I go on road trips,
I try new things in an effort to bring the feeling back.
Sometimes I wonder if the world wants me.
Sitting in a dimly lit room,
the light went out a week ago
and it’s rainy and foggy today.
The rain carries from outside
to deep within my soul,
creating puddles in my chest,
a type of flooding only possible
when it’s rained relentlessly for weeks.
Doctors and meteorologists
don’t know when the rain will stop,
but they assure us it will.
It’s a strange comfort when
you know the rain will end,
but you have no idea when.
It’ll come unexpected,
you won’t be sure at first.
“Is that the sun
peering through the clouds?”
And it is.
And it is beautiful.