I used to be such an empathic, sympathetic, loving, patient, and diplomatic person. I get the feeling that some people in my life right now are wondering where in the hell that woman went? I’m wondering too….
Most of you all didn’t know me when I was, well, not myself but the only sort of shadow of a self that I knew. I’ve been through abuse and depression and suicidal episodes (starting pretty young) and codependency and blah blah blah. The mindset that went with all that was my reality for a good 30 years. At first, I thought being overwraught with emotion was a display of weakness. Then I thought it was a display of devotion. But things evened out slowly, almost imperceptibly, and, these days, I am just continually surprised as I watch myself go on …
On this particular day in my history, living gives me that feeling I had during the first moments I really got how to ride a bicycle: After all of the days and days of falling and scraped knees and hopping back on and falling and so on, I’m back in the saddle and pedalling and pedalling, certain I’m gonna fall like last time (and every time before), and I hit bumps and curves and think, “I’m really gonna fall for sure this time” but I keep on pedalling and it’s like “Oh my god, I’m riding! I’m riding!”
I’m doing remarkably well after Monday’s tragedy. I’m rested, peaceful, happy, and my usual optimistic self. It’s not like the memories aren’t there (of Monday, of everything traumatic that came before). They just don’t seem to throw me off balance like they used to. So, I am riding and watching and just feeling the thrill of not falling.
It’s pretty fucking exciting.