TheBanyanTree: Out of Darkness

[Gail Richards]

I'm so glad you're seeing light again, Monique.

-----Original Message----- 
From: Monique Colver
Sent: Monday, May 12, 2014 12:21 PM
To: Banyan Tree
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.