One of my friends let me know that she had heard my blog mentioned to day on a local radio station as a resource for depression. Phew. Nicole? Thanks for letting me know. And Laura, whoever you are? Thank you for thinking I know what I’m talking about.
I looked around tonight for my journals. I started one in 1994 when I had my first crush on Greg Shumway. I’ve kept one ever since. Uh, well, I kept one until I got a blog. So uh, welcome to my journal! My current crush is Cody, I think he’s sooooo cute. We share a bedroom together. The other day he said he thought I was funny. I think he’s going to ask me out. Gosh, he’s soooo cute.
Ahem. Anyway. As expected my journals are locked up tight in a Tupperware bin in the back of the closet of cluttery mysteries. And rightfully so. There are secrets and stories in those journals that can take hold of me like poison and drag me down before I can scream uncle. Cody has read them. I decided to reread them a while back and wondered why Cody was still coming home everyday after reading what was written in those pages. I was my own worst enemy. I hated myself. I destroyed myself. I was a hot mess.
One journal has an obituary I wrote out for myself, complete with picture.
Another has a piece of sandpaper I used to rub my wrists down to the bone with.
Many pages are filled with scathing letters to my family, mostly my mom. (HI! SORRY MOM! LOVE YOU! Whew! I was a stinker huh?)
One sentence reads “I was feeling ugly today so I called Chris (fake name) to make out (ahem) to feel better about myself.”
Many entries were written drunk.
Many pages are tear stained.
Some include pictures of old boyfriends, phone numbers written on matchbox covers and poems written to me by some boy trying to woo me out of my drawers.
I look back at what I allowed myself and others to do to my body. I felt sad and angry that my body, which should have only been given to my husband, had been through so much.
But supposedly your skin renews itself every three years and your skeleton renews itself every seven years. Which means that finally, after seven years of marriage, my body is my own again. Cody’s the only one who has ever been with this renewed physical body. And now that my body feels healed, my mind is having a much easier time recovering also.
And that? Feels good.