It’s been an interesting few weeks. I won’t say it’s been horrible, but in some ways it’s definitely been a challenge. Self-care, even basics like a proper shower (I’ve been tending to just do a quick, half-hearted soap and rinse) and shaving. I’ve been absolutely horrible at preparing my own meals, instead either scavenging for something easy (peanut butter and honey sandwiches for supper? sure!) or relying on restaurant food (either walking to something close, or getting delivery). While it’s not necessarily bad to do that one or 2 days, doing it for more than a week just perpetuates a slippery slope. It gets easier and easier to slack off, and that just perpetuates the feelings of low motivation. It quickly becomes a vicious circle. Now that’s not to say I’ve been depressed or facing low mood, or low energy. Just severe lack of motivation once I get home from work.
I’m also starting to feel again. Case in point, yesterday I came across an article (read it here: http://www.tsn.ca/remembering-amy-bleuel-and-our-need-for-the-semicolon-1.730735) about the late Amy Bleuel, who is the late founder of Project Semicolon (website here: https://projectsemicolon.com/). Earlier this year I had decided to get a tattoo that incorperated a semicolon tattoo, knowing the significance of it. Less than a week later, depression took Amy’s life. I knew all this — but for whatever reason it didn’t really hit home until yesterday morning as I was reading the article. Within moments I was wrecked. It wasn’t all out bawling. It wasn’t what they call an ugly cry. Just tears. More tears then I’ve shed since Abe’s funeral in 2015. (Abe was my brother-in-law, another victim of depression). Anyway, normally an article like that might make me feel a bit, but yesterday, for a good portion of the day, I was emotional not just irritable, or angry as would be the norm. No, I felt sadness. I felt regret at not knowing Abe more, at how many lives that this stupid illness claims. I was upset at just how close it came to taking my life as well.
The tears I think did something though…there was release there. All the crap that’s happened since mid-2015 somehow was healed a bit in that hour I sat and just let the tears fall. I’m not typically a crier. But somehow this was cathartic. While I don’t want to rush this, or try to force the healing to happen, I think now that some of my walls are starting to crumble, and if that’s true…I look forward to more tears, more healing.
I don’t know where I heard it, or if it’s my own idea…but for years I’ve had this phrase in my head “Tears are soap for the soul” and if that’s true, bring on the soap. I’m ready to cleanse my soul of all this crap
The Phoenix Narrative 