Tuesday, April 22, 2014


Babies don't learn to speak starting with full sentences and my mind doesn't re-learn writing with entire, fleshed-out similes.
I lost-- no, I sacrificed-- my words on October 9, 2013.
It was a beautiful sacrifice: No blood but a whole lot of heart.
I think that's what a sacrifice is supposed to be.
I traded my closet of words, passions, and trinkets for a suitcase of skirts, pamphlets, and schedules.

In the end, it wasn't a sacrifice at all. I received much more than I gave. I got la rama y el CCM y mi primer distrito y mis companeras y mis investigadores (and a little bit of broken Spanish, obviously).

Maybe the heart I gave ran out of room. Maybe I had to make space for all of those blessings, so I had to clean out my locked chests and half-used notebooks.
And somewhere in the six month long purge I accidentally knocked over my Pandora's Box.

Anxiety spilled out and depression seeped through my heart and inched their way up to my mind.
I spent nights suffocating in my own head trying to drown out the despair.

I read a story once where a princess trapped a witch by putting a curse on her. A curse that made the witch lose the ability to want to escape her prison.
That's what depression does to me.
It ties me with weak excuses and half-formed explanations, but robs me of the ability to want to break free.
How can you escape a captor when they are always inside your mind?
The obvious answer is to stop thinking.
The desperate way to stop thinking is to stop breathing.
When I got to the point where I thought that dying was the best option, I knew it was long-since time for help.

In the end, I came home. 6 months after I left and 12 months earlier than planned.
Left with none of the past and a future that seemed like it had been stolen from me, all I have is a near-empty heart.

For rent: Rooms in the heart of Kimberly.
Price: A smile and understanding eyes.
Date Available: Immediately.
Description: Visible scar tissue on the walls, but sturdy and warm. Looking for long-term tenants.

I'm relearning everything. How to love, how to have faith, how to let people in, how to feel. How to write.

There is nothing so simultaneously terrifying and liberating as a blank page.
So I might as well start writing.