Yesterday I took pictures of flowers again while I walked. And of the water. And the deer who crossed my path. My friend tells me it reminds her of a therapy exercise during an inpatient stay — walking around with tape bracelets you can stick bits of nature on as you walk. Little ways to make art. Little ways to stay present.
I bet it will help, someday.
I run the last mile of my walk today because I feel the start of raindrops. I ignored the thunderstorm warnings that were hours away but a mile from home I realized I could have been wrong walking under the gloomy sky. It wouldn’t have been the first time. So I started running. The raindrops stopped but I ran anyway. I haven’t run in two months. I guess it’s nice to know I still can. It’s nice that a mile isn’t tiring, not in the way I expected.
I bet running will help someday too.
I complained of insomnia earlier this week to my parents — doing all the right things (the exercise, the sobriety, the reading, the melatonin), and the hours pass by, one, two, three wide awake in bed. My mother reminds me, through my frustration, that one day isn’t enough. Routines don’t shift overnight.
I got my own therapy homework for the first time in years. A small thing I can do that makes me happy — forget the big grand habits that will come again with time. A small thing. I tell her I have to think about it. But I play at it this week. I reread a favorite book. I go on walks. I do push-ups again. I write a little fiction. I watch a good show. I put my social media limits back on. I start listening to a podcast that isn’t just D&D again.
I bet it will all help someday.
I know it will. But there’s this lie you run into in the dark — that the darkness is the truth. You go through it enough times and you know it’s a lie. You know. But it still grates at your bones.
I like my darkness. But I like my light too. It’s like Raava and Vatuu in Legend of Korra. The eternal struggle. The cycle.
Remembering all that helps.
With Love,
Natalie