On Easter Morning

I don’t even know where to begin. I have begun and re-begun this post – this post in which I explain my absence and pledge to start afresh – at least thirty-five times over the last few months. Sitting in our dining room on this brilliantly sunny Easter morning, my fingers drum nervously against the keypad and my toes twitch inside my tennis shoes as I struggle to transfer my thoughts to the page.

Part of it is rustiness, I’m sure. I’m out of the habit of writing for pleasure, of writing for myself. Academic papers, emails, and budget reports are one thing – honestly writing for and about myself is quite another. And part of it, I know, is that I haven’t really wanted to write about myself. During the last five months, I have spent SO. MUCH. TIME. thinking about myself, my habits, my depression, my eating disorders, my marriage, and my anxiety that coming home and writing about myself to the internet was precisely the LAST THING ON EARTH I wanted to do.

After the Great Breakdown of ’09, to say that my priorities shifted is an understatement. To say that my priorities turned upside down and inside out while riding a unicycle through rush hour traffic on the wrong side of the road in New York City is much closer to reality. And I am not even a little bit kidding.

With the help of a wonderful therapist, a psychiatrist, and a team of doctors, I have finally, for the first time ever, started taking care of myself in a substantive way. Learning how to take care of myself, however, has been as exhausting as it has been liberating. I should have been in therapy since I was eleven, and possibly even before that. As I am coming up on twenty-five, therefore, I am making up for fourteen years of Crazy. I am attempting to reprogram a brain that has been dealing with anxiety, stress, shame, anger, and sadness for over a decade by consistently reverting to bulimia and/or anorexia. The good news is that my body has been wonderfully resilient: for the most part, I am in excellent health. The bad news is that breaking a decade-long habit SUCKS BALLS. And I’m sorry. There is no better way to say that; it has been completely un-fun.

I have had to relearn how to study, how to write papers, and how to cook, exercise, and eat in a healthy way. It has been, without a doubt, the most difficult year I’ve ever had (and I am fully aware that my first-world problems are only relative). I had been seriously depressed for five years, and I was quite comfortable (albeit completely miserable) where I was. I had learned how to live in my little bubble of crazy, and my eating disorders sustained me. Until last September, when I realized that they could sustain me no longer, I hit my version of rock bottom (see: here).

Inasmuch as this year has been emotionally, mentally, and physically draining, however, I can honestly say that I am happier than I have ever been. I am a better wife, friend, dog-owner, daughter, granddaughter, and sister. I am enjoying being a student in a way that I haven’t since high school (so much so that I’ve decided to stay on for my PhD – another huge change). I am calmer, more confident, and kinder. On every good day, I feel a little bit closer to myself, and on every bad day (and believe me – there are still bad days), I am able to cope in a way that I have never been able to cope. Molehills are no longer mountains, and my stomach no longer twists into a web of knots at the thought of getting up and making it through the day. I fake smiles a lot less and I laugh a lot more. Life is enjoyable for the first time in a long time.

I have not, however, accomplished any of this on my own. I meet with a therapist weekly, and I take an antidepressant daily that helps me with my impulse control and my melancholy. I see a doctor every couple of months, and have blood-work taken regularly. The combination of talk-therapy and medication has worked on me beautifully; it is because of people like me that the mental health profession exists (and thrives). The people around me (those whom I have told) have been wonderfully supportive, and incredibly kind. I am a lucky girl.

And I think, at long last, that I’m ready to come back to the blog. I have wanted to come back for a long time, but I just didn’t feel ready. And maybe because it’s Easter or maybe it’s because I want to procrastinate my homework (See! Some things never change!), but on this Sunday morning, sitting in the dining room with Preston and the dogs, I feel confident that I’m ready to return. I’m ready to WRITE again, to rejoin the land of internet, to update my Google Reader, and to share stories and photos and vimeos and recipes. So with that, if you’ll have me, darling internet, I’m on my way. It’s good to be back.