I’ve been a little missing lately. Not just here. I’ve been missing a bit inside my head, which in some ways is good because my head is not always fun to live in.
I don’t know if the depression I’ve been dealing with off and on for the last few months has just worn me down, or if it’s one of my auto-immune diseases flaring up, or if I’ve just been lucky enough to get mono AGAIN, but whatever it is feels ungood. And I know that “ungood” isn’t a real word, but my head is where I keep all my good words and it’s not working well right now. The rest of my body is following suit and so now I’m doing all the things I’m supposed to do to feel better. I’m taking my meds and getting light therapy and eating
well better and taking vitamins and trying to be active and all the other bullshit that you have to do when you’re sick but you aren’t sure where or what the sickness is, so you have to do all the due diligence because otherwise the doctor is going to just wave me away because someone as broken as I am is sometimes expected to be miserable. But here’s the thing. I don’t want to be miserable. I would like to be happy. And sometimes I am. Today I feel better and I can concentrate enough to write this. This sounds small but it’s not. It’s big. And I’m taking it.
And I’m not alone. I’ve seen so many people lately reaching out for help and I’m not sure if I just think more people are struggling because I am too and I’m more sensitive to it, or if there’s something in the air or in the stars that has made this year more difficult in general. I’ve seen people I love doubt their own light and feel broken. And maybe they are, but broken doesn’t mean worthless. Broken hurts sometimes but it is also what makes us different.
Last night as I was going to bed I noticed that I’d let most of the lights burn out in the chandelier and I couldn’t replace them. Not just because I was too tired but also because I don’t own a ladder that tall. So the few remaining lights that still flickered on cast a strange shadow on the wall and in a way it was really beautiful. Like an unconscious mural that painted my house with invisible hands. And it was striking. And strange. And dark. And haunting in a way that is (literally) a little hard to see and also a little hard to ignore. And it seemed like a perfect analogy for how I was feeling. If my head was working better I would be able to wrap this up more succinctly, but if I wait until my head is less broken I might wait forever. And then you’d never see the strange, dark loveliness that comes out when things are little bit broken.
Broken can be beautiful. I’ll remind you of that if you remind me back.