1 July 2014
The beautiful, the ordinary, the here, the light.
(The grey foxy dress is Rowan's favourite right now, can you tell?)
I haven't disappeared off the face of the Earth. The words are failing me. Or I am failing them. I have almost stopped writing. Almost stopped creating. Almost stopped reading. Floundering in a swamp of wordlessness and struggling to the surface to take breath after breath. They need me; I am needed. I have no time to go under. These moments with them count for something. They count for everything.
Every single moment. Every moment of light and laughter and love is a moment won back from the darkness of depression and anxiety. Every moment I can choose better than how I feel.
How pretentious does that sound? Hells, I can't... Broken words, coming out with such difficulty and not even... I wish I could craft this explanation into something redemptive and beautiful. This is why I am absent, fractured. The effort to wrap the words around it draws energy from the effort to stay present and make our lives something redemptive and beautiful. I won't pretend that it isn't so hard, right now. I've come out of this darkness before, though, and I will again. I am not giving in.