Oh, hi.
Yes, I decided to not exist for a while. Sorry.
Being back in Pot Hole, as one of my childhood friends so loving refers to our home town, has been, well, pretty much what you'd expect from a town that has inhabitants referring to it as Pot Hole. It's not that town's fault. It's hard starting over some place old. Starting some place new is a cinch, for me anyway. Being new is intoxicating. I miss my Provo life (pre-fibro attack) and I miss my Provo friends and, as conceited or misguided as this may seem, I miss the person that my friends there saw. It was nice to, for a while, have a whole group of people that didn't know the bad parts. It helped me realize that there are definitely good parts that are worth acknowledging, even though it is only to myself.
SO... I have been ill. SHOCK! I have been pretty depressed. SHOCK! And I have been not handling it well. I was super nauseated and unable to sleep for a 38 hour period and this occurred directly after a mental breakdown wherein I informed my mom and sister that I didn't know what the point of my life was (don't worry, I believe in an afterlife so I know killing myself is not a viable option).
I was miserable.
It was around 2 or 3 am and I was soooo tired (and still 16-17 hours away from sleep, unbeknownst to me) but I was sitting in the living room with the television on so that I could at least try and be distracted when I suddenly heard Sting playing a lute and singing Fields of Gold, which is a song like a memory to me. It just transports me. I couldn't tell you why exactly but I love it. And then I felt the overwhelming happiness and hope that art sometimes affords us. I just started to cry and I was so happy to be alive. To be able to hear such a beautiful song and to feel such impenetrable joy for those three minutes.
For all there is in life to lament, for all the pain, betrayal, and lack we may experience there is the exact opposite waiting for us somewhere. There is peace and trust and abundance. We just have to remember that when it gets dark and lonely.
Yes, I decided to not exist for a while. Sorry.
Being back in Pot Hole, as one of my childhood friends so loving refers to our home town, has been, well, pretty much what you'd expect from a town that has inhabitants referring to it as Pot Hole. It's not that town's fault. It's hard starting over some place old. Starting some place new is a cinch, for me anyway. Being new is intoxicating. I miss my Provo life (pre-fibro attack) and I miss my Provo friends and, as conceited or misguided as this may seem, I miss the person that my friends there saw. It was nice to, for a while, have a whole group of people that didn't know the bad parts. It helped me realize that there are definitely good parts that are worth acknowledging, even though it is only to myself.
SO... I have been ill. SHOCK! I have been pretty depressed. SHOCK! And I have been not handling it well. I was super nauseated and unable to sleep for a 38 hour period and this occurred directly after a mental breakdown wherein I informed my mom and sister that I didn't know what the point of my life was (don't worry, I believe in an afterlife so I know killing myself is not a viable option).
I was miserable.
It was around 2 or 3 am and I was soooo tired (and still 16-17 hours away from sleep, unbeknownst to me) but I was sitting in the living room with the television on so that I could at least try and be distracted when I suddenly heard Sting playing a lute and singing Fields of Gold, which is a song like a memory to me. It just transports me. I couldn't tell you why exactly but I love it. And then I felt the overwhelming happiness and hope that art sometimes affords us. I just started to cry and I was so happy to be alive. To be able to hear such a beautiful song and to feel such impenetrable joy for those three minutes.
For all there is in life to lament, for all the pain, betrayal, and lack we may experience there is the exact opposite waiting for us somewhere. There is peace and trust and abundance. We just have to remember that when it gets dark and lonely.
