Finding My Bliss

You know, sometimes, when I'm not thinking clearly, I get upset that the world is so big and that I'm so small. Like no amount of my movement could even leave a thumb print. Even George Washington, Rosa Parks and Adolf Hitler will at some point no longer be known to the human race. But then I'll be walking my dog and I'll notice the leaves, and my eyes will suddenly open to this, right here: I can't believe the organization of this world. I think about the gas giant, Jupiter, and what it must look like a few miles in to the surface...you'd look around and all you'd see is this homogenous tan color, whipping and swirling around you. There's nothing else to see. And then you compare that to what I see everyday when I walk my dog, and the beautiful organization is suddenly new and fresh before my eyes. All of the species, all of the colors, the complexity of our ecosystem forming a long chain, much like DNA, that is nearly impossible to destroy despite our best efforts. If there is an extinction of species, a deletion in part of the chain, the world will look different for while, but eventually the wound is healed and the organization is again perfect. It's in this realization that the feeling of my own insignificance goes away so completely...because I'm so honored to take part. In a system so chaotically beautiful, even the smallest piece of the puzzle has infinite value. And not only am I a part of the complexity, but I was born a human being, a Watcher. And as such, I'm not just bestowed the incredible honor of taking part in the symphony, but I get to be in the audience, too. As a Watcher we don't just play the instrument, we are lucky enough to have awakened, to be conscious of the music, too.

That honor that I feel is always enough to drag me out of the Small Mind, where I worry about my pants getting too tight and where I eat too much sugar and where I have social anxiety. I suddenly remember who I am, a collection of particles that have made their way to this Earth, piggy-backing from supernova to supernova until they all came together as Me, who then was born and awoke with a conscious mind to watch it all happen. A collection of particles that will one day go to sleep, and the particles will continue on much in the same way. There is infinite bigness in that, I think.

The world is so good, sometimes.

In a different direction, back to the business of being human. Jobs.

Joseph Campbell, a guy whose name you should know, once said to "follow your bliss". His entire life's work can be summarized neatly in those three words. I take them very seriously. Find whatever it is that makes the hours fly by unnoticed, that makes work not seem like work at all, and DO. THAT. Find a way to make money from it, or find a way to reconcile yourself with the idea of living in a shack, but either way DO. THAT. Unfortunately it's not as easy as it seems. I think most of the pleasures of my life are not my own pleasures at all. I think for me, I get so caught up in what everyone else wants for me that I can't even tell the difference anymore between what I want and what I know everyone else wants me to want. I wasn't even sure how to go about identifying what my "bliss" was. I was advised, probably by Oprah, who I am embarrassingly in love with, to look for the things that I've done my entire life, whether sad or happy, young or younger (I almost said "young and old", but let's be real- I'm 23. I refuse to claim "old".). What have I always done? Which things did I do as a kid that I still do now, that I do without thinking and without need for recognition because that's how I can express myself to the universe? I found a few gold veins running through my history, and they took me by surprise. These things are so habitual to me, so ME, that I didn't even think of them as activities...they are just me, as easy and unnoticeable as breathing. I write! I write, I write, I write, I write. I have always written. Literally, always. When I get the opportunity to write it's like I've been holding my breath for months and months and finally I can get air. Writing is another organ to me, another functional unit of my self that keeps me alive. It's so much myself that I didn't even realize that it was there. I take it for granted in the same way that I take my pancreas for granted (Side note- with all of the ice cream I've been eating lately, I have developed a newfound respect for my pancreas. I'm a fan.). I'd like to give props to my sister, Miranda, who knew that writing was my bliss long before I did. I remember everytime I was unsure of my major or what I wanted to do with my life, she'd always quietly insist that I was born to write. I'd say, "yeah yeah, but really, what should I do?". So, Miranda, way to see clearer than I can. And might I take this chance to say that I love you, not just because we're sisters, but because you are the oldest, wisest soul that I know. You are good at everything, you know everything, and you have always been unshakeable and steadfast in a way that I have always admired. I don't say it enough, but I appreciate the hell out of you just being you.

ANYWAY.

Another thing I've always compulsively done is wander. I love to walk. And what's more, I love to walk and not have a single clue where I'm going. I've done it my entire life. In a suburban town without much adventure, I'd go outside to see what I could find. I scouted through the woods just to see where I came out when I got to the other side. I will find a way to be near water and trees, I always have. When I was very young I'd go alone, and then we got a dog, and she came with me. Now I have my own dog, and he comes with me. We find things. I walk along the banks of the bayou by my house until I see a path that I haven't seen before, and I go see where it takes me. I like to discover things outside, and I love to be lost. Like writing, the impulse to go walk around with my dog and find things is so much a part of me that I've never even noticed it.

Anyway, I'm writing all this from a bathtub, and I'm starting to prune in ways never before imagined,so I have to go. I hope all of this came across. I hope, as they say, you're "picking up what I'm throwing down". I hope you've heard me. Talk to you guys later.

OH WAIT, before I go, I adopted an American Black Bear named Bill. Don't tell anyone. He lives in a wildlife sanctuary in Boyd, Texas. I'm going to visit him in a few weeks to bring him apples and a rubber ball. I'm stoked. Just had to share. Okay.

Darkness

There is only one thing going on in my mind right now; only one phrase. There is so much darkness. Over and over. That's all I hear in my mind. Such surprise at the knowledge that this world is full of light and beautiful things, but that I feel none of it. None of it penetrates. I'm surprised at the depth and breadth of the emptiness. There is so much darkness, and I'm alone.

No one can tell me what is wrong with me. I've had so many vials of blood drawn. Is it adrenal fatigue? Is it hypothyroidism? Is it hormonal? Is it a serotonin deficiency? No one knows. And what is so truly terrifying is that if no one knows, no one knows how to make it go away. We don't know how to treat it.

The only thing we really can do is throw an SSRI my way. One of the main side effects of an Selective Serotonin Reputake Inhibitor is weight gain. As you all know, I'm a few years out of recovering from an eating disorder. I'm not yet far enough away from that raging hatred of self and body to swallow a pill that will more than likely make me gain weight. I can't even think of it. It is still a battle to accept myself as I am now, let alone with extra weight. I can't do it. But it's the only answer anyone can come up with. It's all I have.

It's a Catch 22. There is no way to win the game. I can't cut, I'm embarrassed enough of the scars that already pepper my arm. The only thing that I can do is stagger forward, try to keep my head above water...somehow go to class, somehow take the tests, somehow feed myself, somehow keep myself clean, somehow keep all of my friends from noticing what is happening to me. It takes all the energy that I've got just to text someone back with a smiley face so that they won't find out that I feel like I'm rotting away. No way out, stagnant, as good as dead. Falling, tripping, stumbling through a life that is glorious and heart wrenching in it's beauty, being unable to touch it.

How could someone so young be so sick? What is wrong with my body? It's so easy for the people around me to get up, to go to school, to take a shower, to study, to laugh and love and be the way they were born to be. Depression doesn't stay with me all the time, it does go away. And so I sit and burn in Hell while I wait for it to leave me, and eventually I am alright again. It could be weeks, months, or years until it comes back, but it always does...like the monster under my bed. Always I'm waiting. Is this what my life will always consist of? Will I be able to have a family, or will this monster come and cripple me, leaving me a worthless mother and wife?

All I know is that I deserve your respect. Every hour is a fight for me. Every morning when you're taking a shower and wondering what the day will bring, I'm talking myself into putting my feet on the ground. Every day is a heroic effort. Every day I have to coax myself into waking up, into socializing and grooming myself and keeping myself fed. There is a reason why my crippling depression comes as a surprise to most people. Because I'm damn good at forcing myself to show up when all I want to do is fade away. All I want is an answer. All I want is for someone to know why this is happening to me. I want someone to know how to make it stop. But nobody seems to know.