Tuesday, August 12, 2014

Getting Back on Track

It's so easy to get derailed in this life.

There are slings and arrows coming from every direction, and next thing you know, you wake up covered in cheese dust with swollen eyes and salt-stained cheeks, on sheets you haven't changed in months, because who would notice?

For those of us who are particularly sensitive to the vibrations of the universe around us, it's hard enough to stay on track during one of life's tumultuous events, like a lost job or a lost love. But when love is gone, friends are far, money is tight, work can't be found, the bed is empty, the bank is empty, the gas tank is empty, and all you feel is physical pain and heartache, how can you not think that all is lost?

I was never going to love again.

I was never going to work again.

I was going to lose my apartment, and have nowhere to go.

I was going to gain all of that weight back. It had already started to happen.

I didn't wish for any of these things, but I'd lost control over all of them, and as though in a dream, all I could do was watch the events as they unfolded. I couldn't stop them. I could only make the predictions and try to prepare myself for the worst.

Sometimes, you can't steer or brake or maneuver yourself out of a crash. You just have to duck for cover.

I've been so lonely and isolated for so long – sure, for my whole life, but particularly these last few months. When I'm working and have got some money, I manage to socialize with strangers, though it never fills the vacancy of the close friends that are back East, with whom phone conversations are too few, and the distance grows greater as our in person visits become more infrequent. But when times are tight and I don't know how I'll pay the next month's rent, all I can do is hunker down, try not to spend any money, or break anything, or get sick or hurt, in the body, the heart, or the mind.

I don't know what happened on the earth or in the stars in early July, three months after the shit hit the fan in my life in a perfect storm of life-altering crises, but things started to change.

On Independence Day, a couple of friends gave me the one thing I needed the most: they reached out, spent time with me, and just listened.

A shift ensued.

The next week, I started an eight week group therapy session that started helping me untwist my thoughts, and feel like I'm not the only one who thinks them.

The same day, like a gift from the Universe, I met someone who has given me hope, and who has helped put my heart back together, even just a few pieces at a time.

Since then, I've lost seven pounds. I've sold more photos and more writing. My unemployment went through.

And it looks as though I might actually work again.

I'm not back on track yet, but I'm getting there. For some reason, in addition to my persistent depression, I have more anxiety now than I've ever had before, and I've got to figure out how to manage that. But I've been happy to wake up in the morning more than a few times (particularly when there's someone to wake up to). And that's really something.

The thing is...
...when it's going well,
it's so scary,
because suddenly I've got something to lose again. 

I can do bad; I'm used to bad.

But please don't take this good away from me...

Related Posts:
The Forever Now
Feeding the Multitudes
My Time Has Passed