TheBanyanTree: Out of Darkness

[Jena Norton]

Glad you're coming back into the light. Sounds like Mr. C and Ash knew just what you needed!

Unfortunately, depression attracts pounds to me.................


 
Jena Norton


>________________________________
> From: Monique Colver <monique.colver at gmail.com>
>To: Banyan Tree <thebanyantree at lists.remsset.com> 
>Sent: Monday, May 12, 2014 12:21 PM
>Subject: TheBanyanTree: Out of Darkness
> 
>
>Or: The Major Depression Weight Loss Plan
>
>
>
>Take your pick.
>
>I don’t recommend it as a weight loss method. I don’t recommend it at all,
>though it does get rid of a few pesky pounds without even thinking about it.
>
>What a year. On the plus side, my feet feel like themselves again, not numb
>tingly interlopers, and my tongue is back to normal, though the darkness
>has left me with a bad taste in my mouth. And the darkness? The soul
>stealing emptiness that threatened to take me with it when it left? It’s
>receding. I can see light from here, though I’m not sure I can feel it yet.
>That’s why I’m sitting by the fire, even now, with the sun out and the
>temps rising.
>
>I can see the light from here, and I can see a version of myself that is
>waiting for me to catch up with it. And last night I did not dream of
>darkness and sadness, for the first time in several days.
>
>We drove to the coast yesterday, me all silent and wrestling with demons,
>Mr C all wonderful and patient and calm, the soul of peace. When we got
>there we drove through Cannon Beach and out the other end, and pulled off
>at a small street next to an inn, where the beach was within a few feet.
>I’m still shaky, and weak, from not eating, from the darkness that stole
>all my strength. Ash jumped and danced, lovely in his exuberance.
>
>Then we drove back through Cannon Beach, brimming with beachgoers anxious
>to be out where the sun is shining, and Mr C stopped and got us drinks and
>sandwiches, and then we drove to Ecola State Park, and we sat at a picnic
>bench overlooking the ocean, and we ate our sandwiches and coleslaw and
>chips, and I ate all of mine without feeling as if it were work, for the
>first time in days.
>
>And Ash stood by and played and danced, and showed off for other tourists.
>
>We’re all tourists, here for the adventure and to see what we can see.
>
>I still feel it following me, wanting to catch up and take me in hand. I’ve
>wrested myself away, but I left behind some of my pieces, and I can’t go
>back and get them because it’s too big and too scary, and I’m not strong
>enough. I have to ease back in to life, wanting to talk to everyone to see
>where they’ve been while I’ve been away, but having to go slow because I’m
>uncertain and the ground is rocky.
>
>I don’t know why it came, why now, and I don’t know how it got a foothold
>into me so desperately. I wish I did, because then I could be prepared. But
>I just don’t know.
>
>My confidence is in sharp little pieces, my confidence in who I am and what
>I’m doing here, and I want to gather all the pieces and glue them back
>together, but I don’t know where to start, so I start with tiny little
>steps.
>
>Like this, maybe.
>
>We laughed yesterday, about taking Ash to a gallery, perhaps a ceramics
>shop, where he would whip his tail around and before we know it, we’d have
>bought the entire shop, and had a carload full of shattered ceramics to
>bring home and glue together, mosaics our new passion.
>
>We don’t go shopping when Ash is with us, and that’s okay.
>
>The house smells of death and sickness and loss, and I want it out, I want
>my life back. I can see light again, but I’m still shaky and scared, and I
>want back.
>
>I want back in.
>
>