the longest way 'round

i saw it while driving in the rain, hanging over an old marquee down on south congress. one thought: "the longest way 'round is the shortest way home." and it struck me. as processing, growing. as where i am in my journey right now.

i recently found this blog,
Mothers Who Write
and it's intriguing to me cause it's just so real... her teaching, her words from daily life. she's approachable. and so i keep going back to find out more, to learn more. to take whatever words and thoughts she leaves out for stray visitors.

so, i got some perspective on some thoughts/memories i've been having recently. trying to overanalyze the ever present cloud, the very much so vivid, post partum depression. (or post mortum, as kenny likes to call it as he shrugs unknowingly) it keeps coming up, being brought back to life and thrown in my face, and i'm so overly aware of it. i want to know it, shake its hand, smile at it, embrace it. i want to tell it that i've turned my back to it, in hopes of it disappearing altogether. but it keeps bubbling up through the cracks, leaving wet footprints behind me as i walk.

it seems that i haven't taken enough steps back from it to gain insight on it. to really see it for what it was. get some distance. i've been trying to write about that time, the intensity, the confusion, the anxiety. but nothing comes out. words don't make sense of it just yet. it's still grey. i'm still standing on the edge of it, it still lingers. too raw, too exposed, too fragile to write about yet.

so i have to accept it, as much as i want to write it down to set it free, it's not quite ready yet to leave me. sometimes i dig out my jounals to look back through the words from that time, looking for a window in. maybe i'm hoping that i'll see it now from an outsiders perspective. but there's nothing there. just some short phrases that still trigger thoughts and emotions for me.

it was like i knew at that time to not bother with writing at all. just focus on living. struggle with breathing. bother with walking, and moving each limb. think, think, think, to get the demons out. push it away, save it for a stronger time.

all those ugly thoughts of disillusion. they seemed too ugly and unnatural to write about. but i know better now. i know now that there is nothing more natural as post partum depression. it's nothing to hide from. it's something to scream about. but i only know this now. standing on the other side. i know now that it doesn't disappear just cause you turn your back. you have to be active, talk, scream, shake your fist at it, and command it. you have to get strong to beat it if you don't want to desensitize yourself with meds.

looking back at those pages, i see it in my handwriting. the weakness, the unease. i wrote like i was leaving a trail, like dropping bread crumbs to mark my path. so when i was ready to get back there i could find my way out with new eyes.