I just came back from a run. The run helped me figure these things out, even though I went running for the wrong reasons. I went for a run to avoid my hunger pangs. To avoid the feelings, the natural feelings, the natural emotions, the natural… that’s what I went to do. Bringing it back to the food system, the portions and the allotted number for the day, I would rather be hungry during the day than potentially hungry at the end of the day (I say potentially because who knows? Perhaps my body, my soul, my nature will know what it needs?).
As such, I went running to avoid feeling this hunger, this potential fear later in the day. However, that’s when these thoughts I’ve been having get to be worst. The feelings of dread and hopelessness and death and overwhelming and drinking way too much (and for very much the wrong reasons), the feelings that this isn’t worth it, this isn’t worth the pain that it inflicts. This is when I am most vulnerable to the blackness, its screams.
This can’t be all there is. This can’t be it.
I need some happy, even for just a little while. I am over at my parents’ house, getting ready to have dinner with some family members. That’s not important.
What is important is the happy that came out of it:
I got a hug from my brother.
Not a hug with my brother. Not a 50% hug (which was the best I’d had up to this point), but a true, actual hug. Fuck, I even had a beer with him.
He’s back. Today showed that the him the blackness took away is back. Yes it took medication and therapy and five months, but he (along with a supportive system) crawled out of its clutches.
Don’t fuck with your meds again kid, I love having my brother with me.
I love that I got a hug from my brother.
There is hope and love in this, the same that he needed. The same that I need right now. The same that shows me that this is not it, that this isn’t all there is.