I wrote this quote on my Facebook profile earlier this evening: “Knowing you belong to your dreams is a pretty damn good feeling.”
If you read my post from just a few weeks ago (The Never-Ending Forest), you’d be surprised at what a turnaround I’ve made in such a short period of time. As I mentioned in that post, I did restart my antidepressant medication but only used it for about a week – right ’til the point when I started to feel better. I just forgot to keep taking them each day. Once I realized my memory lapse, I recognized that I didn’t need the meds. I was out of the dark.
And I’ve stayed out.
As some of you may recall, since May 2, 2011, I’ve had a surgery approximately every three months, with my most recent being on September 10, 2012. If you’re calculating right now, I’ll do the math faster for you: that’s 7 surgeries in a year and a half (I’ve had 9 total since 2009). Given that, I think it’s understandable that I was depressed. I felt so often like I was caught in a revolving door. I used to tell my parents, husband, and friends that I felt like my body was trying to kill me and that I believed 100% that it would succeed sooner than later. Everyday I thought, “what’s next and when?” Looking back, I’m appalled at the amount of time I spent waiting for the ball to drop. Waiting is not living. It’s a slow death that affords zero comfort or clarity.
But things are different now. I don’t know how or why. All I know is that I went to bed, in much pain, the night after writing that post and woke up the next day pain-free. Now it’s hard for me to believe I even just had surgery.
Actually, honestly, it finally feels like an entire and totally awful chapter of my life came to a close and a new one has opened. While I understand that I may have to have another surgery one day, I am no longer waiting for it or expecting it. Here’s how I view things now:
If I am in an up-cycle right now, then damnit, I’m going to ride it for as long and as hard as I can. I’m not going to question what I’m feeling now – this drive, this determination, this energy. It’s like something has clicked in my head and I can’t, nor do I want to, slow down. I can’t go back to that Silence and I’m glad because the path I’m on now allows me to take back everything that IBD took away. I am living my dreams. I belong to them, I embrace them, and I see the world through them. It’s like I’m holding the sun – but this time I’m not afraid of being burned.