darkness

The hardest lesson I’ve learned is this: don’t stop moving. Even when it feels impossible, even when it feels like you’re drowning in darkness. Movement is a lifeline.

I was a college athlete. I ran with my dog everyday, until she died and everything changed. The grief consumed me. I stopped running. I stopped caring about anything, including myself.

I was trapped in my mind. Taking care of myself became a daunting chore. I believed I was being selfish by breathing oxygen meant for contributing members of society. The thought of my parents finding my body was the only thing holding me back from succumbing to the ruthless thoughts brought on by the slightest bit of stress. 

I’m still here, maybe slightly better, but still sad. Life is so hard. I think about buying a new house, or a van, or getting another dog but my cognitive thinking skills tell me these are just bandaids to a bigger problem. 

I am taking the meds, doing the individual therapy and group therapy. I have an amazing support system. My animals keep me going. My cousin invites me over to do art with her kids, we hang out with the dogs and chill by the fire. Life feels good in those moments, but the looming darkness follows me. 

I feel like I am failing at life. I was meant to make a career out of the military but my brain couldn’t handle it. Now I’m out of shape and aging quickly. I am looking to go back to school, something to do with art, but that doesn’t start til the fall. Til then I am traveling and thinking more about a new house or a van, probably not both. 

If you are still reading this, know that I am ok. I have my parents to lean on daily. I call my aunt on my way to and from my cousin’s house. I have my sister. My grandma. Brothers. I have more aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews and friends than I can keep up with.

If anyone reading this ever needs someone to talk to, reach out to me: 

roadtripsandreputations@gmail.com