Fear not

I know my recent posts have been awfully dark. Honestly, that's how I'm feeling. Fear not, though. They are not THAT dark.

In some ways, that's liberating. In other ways, it just makes it more frightening.

Let's start the discussion with a song. I listened to this one a few times today:

Drought by Vienna Teng
click for a sample

Summer move forward and stitch me the fabric of fall
wrap life in the brilliance of death to humble us all
how sweet is the day
I'm craving a darkness
as I sit tucked away with my back to the wall

and the taste of dried-up hopes in my mouth
and the landscape of merry and desperate drought
how much longer dear angels
let winterlight come
and spread your white sheets over my empty house

summer move forward and leave your heat anchored in dust
forgotten him, cheated him, painted illusions of lust
now language escape, fugitive of forgiveness
leaving as trace only circles of rust

and the taste of dried-up hopes in my mouth
and the landscape of merry and desperate drought
how much longer dear angels
come break me with ice
let the water of calm trickle over my doubts

come let me drown
angels no fire no salt on the plow
carry me down
bury me down

and the taste of dried-up hopes in my mouth
and the landscape of merry and desperate drought
once I knew myself
and with knowing came love
I would know love again if I had faith enough
too far is next spring and her jubilant shout
so angels, inside
is the only way out

Having shared that, I will say that there was a point in my life where the song's topic had a certain allure to me. I tend not to speak about the topic, but I once had physical scars from my depression. In my dark days, I wore those marks with pride. In brighter moments, I was absolutely ashamed of them. They were badges of stupidity and weakness. I grew up. I dealt with some issues and pushed others out of reach until later when I found someone (I thought) who would help me stomp through those memories (and he did at the time when the wounds were fresh. He has just abandoned me now when I need him to do nothing more than reach out a hand and pull me up from the dark pit of my past). I am not that morbid little girl I was years ago. In high school, "friends" teased me saying, "You're so morbid." All I could do was think to myself, "You have no idea."

I am not that girl. There were dark thoughts that little girl would invite in. "Pull up a chair. Sit right here beside me. I want to hear everything you have to say." In the 10 or 15 years since then, those thoughts have never even come knocking.

Fear not. They still stay away. I listened to that song today (and sang along because I never can just listen to a song) in the car and it hit me that it's not even an option. It's not even something I can phathom. That's freeing to know I don't have to walk on eggshells just to keep the evil at bay--always worried it could come back to bite. Those days are long gone.

At the same time, it's a bit restrictive. I have one less choice. When jumping off the depression isn't an option, then you have to face the dark reality that you must work your way through it. I honestly can't fully remember what it was like in the past. I remember writing a letter (that I never sent) to a friend explaining that it was like being stuck in a long dark hallway. You couldn't see anything, but you could feel doors along the walls. When you opened them, though, you were either greeted by more nothingness or monsters waiting to pounce.

No, it's not anything like that now. It's dark here in my head, but there are no monsters. There are long pauses and far too much silence, but the nothingness is long gone.

Fear not.