Life is Short

Pictures like these show up in my Facebook newsfeed all the time. I'm sure they do yours too. Sometimes we pass them by without a thought. Sometimes we like them so much we share them for all our other friends to see. Probably mostly we read them, feel warm and squishy for a second and a half, and then keep scrolling. 

I very rarely share pictures like this. I didn't even share this one. But I often take snapshots of pictures to keep in my camera roll, a place I scroll through far more often than I scroll through my Facebook wall. Granted, most of the snapshots are of comics or funny one-offs like this one: 

I have a thing for dinosaurs

But every now and then, something other than comical will invoke a reaction and make me want to save it for later. Maybe the reaction is motivation. Maybe it's resolve. And sometimes the reaction is as a simple as feeling like my flailing hand has been grasped and I just might be saved from drowning. 

The truth is, I'm struggling. I didn't realize how well I had been handling major transitions in my life until waves of depression began to roll in, growing in altitude and strength of undertow--and I found myself helpless to stop them. My safest places started flooding and my frantic efforts to save them only compounded the damage. As it stands today, I am sitting on the roof of my mental house, my ears burning with the white noise of falling rain pounding the waters all around me, trying to shield my eyes as I wait and wait and wait.. and wait... and wait....for the clouds to part and the sun to come out.

When I came across this picture, I felt nothing as I read it. And yet the words were for me. Say goodbye to gossip. Yes, I will: I've already quit a job I really wanted because the gossip was out of control. Say goodbye to people who hurt you. Yes, I must and have, though it hurt like hell to do it. Spend your days with people who are always there. Yes, I should, and it means so much to me to have a dear friend who repeats these words like a banner over my head, "I'm not going anywhere." 

I felt nothing as I took the screenshot to save it to my phone. The storm was raging inside my head that particular moment, making the words blurry and meaningless. And yet I pressed the buttons, feeling that in the moment the action was frivolous but instinctually knowing that later the picture would speak to me and I would hear. And in performing the motion--because I performed the motion--a thought flashed in the darkness like a beacon, unbidden: I'm going to be okay. 

I'm going to be okay.