Life is funny.
Sometimes you're fine. Sometimes it does hurt, and sometimes it gets so dark in your head you can't really convince yourself to get up. But you do. Because eventually, even with that darkness still bobbing around, you get a moment of light. Or freedom. Or whatever you want to call it, but it makes you feel, for a moment, normal. It makes you thoughtless. Thoughtless, in a good way; those dark slivers of depression worm their way into the farthest recesses of your mind, let you breathe for a moment around whatever ventilation system you found.
So you cling to that ventilation system. I would; wouldn't you? It keeps the darkness away. For a moment. You know it's still there, but it'll be okay, won't it? It'll go away. You don't have to think when you're around your Vent, whatever it is. If you don't think, you don't have to deal with it. And if you don't deal with it, you don't have to admit how dark it really is.
But what happens when that Vent disappears? Vanishes, like Vents usually do. And suddenly you're left there, hollowed out, open for all the world to see. Suffocating in your nakedness. The darkness knows. The Vent is gone. No more distractions, no more avoidance, no more breath. It's coming now. It's here. It's yelling at you: deal with me.
Deal with me.
I'm here. You can't get away from me.
DEAL WITH ME.
I read SPEAK by Laurie Halse Anderson cover to cover Sunday night. I can't put into words how much I needed to read this book. I did a post a little while ago about what I had been going through, and reading over it now, it sounds nice, doesn't it? It sounds all hopeful and stuff. But it doesn't really work like that. This whole process. It never resolves itself in one instant AHA! moment. It's a lot of AHA! moments, and a lot of breakdowns, and a lot of sobbing and screaming and laughing. But the thing I need to remember through all of this, the good and the bad, the lost Vent and the emptiness that followed, is a line from SPEAK:
"A small, clean part of me waits to warm and burst through the surface. Some quiet Melindagirl I haven't seen in months. That is the seed I will care for."
I just have to keep nurturing that quiet Saragirl who keeps whispering at the back of my mind. The girl who's been there all along, through the disastrous religion, the family crises, the shattered hearts. She's been there. The "real" me. A quiet seed of a girl who continues to wait, wait and wait, until I can nurture her into a strong, daring woman. On my own. No Vents, no distractions, no denials. I have depression, and I will fight it, and I will not let myself stay this way.
Because winter really is over now. No more excuses.