I'm okay. I'm really, honestly okay.
It's this sort of gasping realization. Like coming up after being sucked down by a current in the ocean. Like feeling your feet hit sand again after being pulled too far out. It's almost a panic of its own that sets in because it's such a powerful moment. It's like the start of a pouring rainstorm when for a second your heart races and everything is pure and perfect and beautiful.
There's always this moment when it hits. When a wave of clarity breaks over you and the toxic haze of depression, exhaustion, fatigue fades. When you breathe in and you want to cry because it's okay. Because the world isn't falling apart and you're doing well and everything is really, honestly fine. Sometimes it's even better than fine. And it takes an unpredictable trigger to cause this realization.
There was one day several years ago now that comes to mind as a contrast to today. I don't remember what happened or what went wrong, but I do remember that I was upset. And this was before I learned to really enjoy heart-wrenching agony. I remember walking through that door and locking it, opening my computer and turning the volume all the way up, listening to I'm Not Okay (I Promise) over and over again for half an hour on those shitty laptop speakers and crying. Not the calm and controlled crying where tears flow freely and easily, but the gasping, shaking kind that's more sobs tearing through your body than tears falling.
It seems horrid now, thinking back on it. I was such a mess. And the coping strategy was, ah, less than ideal. But it was better than the alternative. I don't know if I'd stopped by then or not. I don't remember if I did it anyway after I stopped crying or not. Looking back, I probably did. It doesn't matter anymore, but that was how I dealt.
It's interesting to see how much it's changed. I've finally been able to give up that control. I let my sadness carry me now. I let it control where I go and how I get there. And now it's the revelations that sting and make me gasp, not other things. Perhaps I spend more time in a state of melancholy on the whole, but I come out of it better, too. I wonder what would have happened if I'd waited for a revelation then. If I would have reached the conclusion that I am capable sooner than I did.
I wonder if that's what really changed when I gave it up. There was no defining moment. I just stopped. It was the easiest thing in the world because I didn't even have to think about it. It just happened, and it wasn't until a month or so later that I made it a conscious priority. I don't know that I remember how. Not in the same way I knew then. I'm sure I could come back to it, but I'm equally sure right now that I'll be okay without it.
I think what happened is that somewhere in there a part of me finally snapped. That's usually a bad thing, but I'm not sure that this one was. It was so subtle that I missed it and moved forward with my life. I think it's possible that somewhere in there I hit a transition point without being at all aware. I think it made me stronger in some way. Or maybe just more of a masochist, just of a slightly different variety. Whatever it was, I think it was good.
And yes, sometimes I still want to, because it's so easy. It's the easiest way out. It is control. It doesn't represent or signify it in any way, it is control. It's how I kept myself together for a year. It's like a fucking drug, because it sets everything aside. In that moment, nothing matters except what is before you, and once the moment passes, everything else is already gone, so life could continue. That's how it always was for me, at least. It was the best solution so many times. Let me rephrase what I said: it's terribly difficult, but once you do, everything is so damn easy.
I still think I like this more, though. I like the melancholy. I like letting go because it's hard for me. Once I finally do, it gives me a chance to reset. And the realizations that come after a low point are more exhilarating than the release ever was. I'm still not emotionally stable in many ways. There are many things I have yet to work on about myself. But I'm okay. I am really, truly okay right now. And most of the time, for that matter. I am capable of dealing with things and taking care of myself.
I don't think I'll ever be normal or completely stable. And that's okay. I like my overpowering emotions. I like the highs that come after the lows, and I appreciate the lows for giving me a break, a fresh start. I may not always believe it myself, but I think I really have gotten better.
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