I'm sitting in the dining hall with this strange, dizzying feeling, like the world is sort of spinning around me. It's not so different from motion sickness. The glare of the yellowish light bulbs make me sort of squint. I've been sitting here for two hours now, trying my very best to focus on my work. I don't want to fall behind. My jaw is clenched, and it feels like the blood vessels in my lower arm are going to pop; I'm convinced I can feel the blood rushing through. I strangely aware of the space between my two ears, of what feels like a weighted blanket covering my chest and wrapping around my throat. And my thoughts are going in circles, trying to keep myself calm, trying to separate my thoughts from my feelings, my feelings from my actions, to stay in "rational mind." And I can hear my therapist saying in the background, "You have to try harder. You just aren't willing enough. If you don't think our sessions are enough, maybe that just means you need to go to the ED."
Square breathing. In for 5 seconds, hold for 7. Out for 5 seconds, hold for 7. I rub the Raku Angel in my pocket, thinking about the people I love. When I go on a bathroom break, I tell myself, "you are stronger than you seem, braver than you believe, smarter than you think, and loved more than you'll ever know." My brain feels numb, the loud voices of the people around me are making my heart jump up and down, like I'm on some roller coaster. I cover my ears subtly with my hands.
But I tell myself, "You are strong enough. You got this, girl." I've made it this far. I think about where I was one year ago today, and I'm pleased that I'm now kind of back on the path that I had seen myself going down 5 years ago, when I was a young freshman looking in wonder at the old brick buildings and stunning libraries. She has no idea what is ahead of her, but she also has no idea how strong and courageous she can be.
I wrote "for all that could be" on a sticky note and stuffed it into my safety box. The phrase alludes to the idea that I had all of these dreams for the future before this whole experience of depression happened; they could still come true. Today, in a moment of pain, desperation, and panic, I opened it. And I was surprised to find another sticky from my brother who had been visiting earlier in the week to support me. It read "for all that will be." I struggled to hold back my tears in the dining hall. The people who matter the most in this work - my brother, my parents, my grandparents - are more confident that I can get through this than I am. This pain is temporary. This too shall pass. Here I am living, despite it all. I'm going to make it through today, and the next day, one day at a time.
I can't imagine myself at age 30 - it seems so distant, kind of impossible. But if I can keep up this fight and I stay curious, maybe I will see that day in 2031.
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