The girl who fell into the big black hole and still held on to the light
According to Wikipedia, "a black hole is a region of spacetime from which gravity prevents anything, including light, from escaping." And for those interested, "The theory of general relativity predicts that a sufficiently compact mass will deform spacetime to form a black hole." Basically, black holes are a places where the pull is so strong that nothing gets out.
I think I have one in my heart.
It's always there somewhere, deep within me. It sucks the life force and energy out of me, like it has its own gravitational field. If you catch me on a bad day, the hole will have absorbed all of me and lulled me into it's comforting promise of non-existence aka my bed.
I have stars in my eyes, too, occasionally. And the milky way is dotted along my right shoulder and arm in the form of freckles when I spend time in the sun. And sometimes, rarely now, I have the mother earth resting in the palms of my hands, it's rivers floating through my veins, it's winds blasting through my lungs.
But more often than I would like to admit, it feels like I am drifting through empty space, surrounded by nothing but endless, endless darkness.
Do you ever feel that way?
I like to think of myself as the girl who dreams of freedom and a Hay House publishing deal. And according to my therapist I am "depressed for most of the year and deeply depressed for the rest."
In other words, I am currently facing some badass persistent soul-sucking challenges. It's the reason why I've been so quiet.
I don't know what trials and challenges your life is serving you, but the most persistent of mine slowly emerged through my teenage years in the form of deep despair and impulsive self-destructiveness. I've received my fair share of diagnoses and tests as a result of this: Severe Clinical Depression, Social Anxiety, Generalized anxiety, Bipolar, Type II, Rapid Cycling, Anorexia, Bulimia, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified (EDNOS), Chronic Suicidality, Self-harm, Borderline personality disorder. You name it. Thankfully, most of these are not a part of my repertoire anymore, I have healed so much.
But sometimes the feelings are still lingering. The hopelessness. The emptiness. The fatigue. The extreme fear of failure.
Reality is, I am still struggling.
I have some really, really good days. Good weeks. Good months, even. I am getting healthier and stronger. And at the same time, it's an incredibly slow process. Anyone healing from anything, really, will know.
It's easy to loose sight of the light.
But it is in these moments of darkness that it's vital to remember –
Just because you can't feel it, it doesn't mean that it isn't there.
Even when you don't feel alive at all, you still are.
Even when you can't see the light, it doesn't mean that everything is dark. It means that the warmth of the sun has journeyed across your heavens and that you are given the restful pause of a deep and soulful night. The sun is still shining on the other side of the world.
Just because you can't feel the faith pulsating through your veins, it doesn't mean that you are faithless. It means that your veins have become numb from the hurt and the pain, protecting you from feeling the worst of the worst. The faith is still in you, surging.
Just because you can't see the hope shining like a guiding star in the sky, it doesn't mean that you are hopeless. It means that you are blinded by your challenges. The hope is still there, behind the trees.
Just because you can't feel the warmth of the unconditional divine love doesn't mean that you are unlovable. It means that the love that is surrounding you is embracing you without touching your skin. The love is still there, relax into it.
Just because you can't hear the voice of your purpose whispering what to do with your life, it doesn't mean that you are purposeless. It means that the whisper is so soft and full of intention that you have to listen closer. Shhhhhh.
Just because you can't touch the freedom in your heart doesn't mean that you are unfree, it means that you are clenching your fists. Freedom still exists in your soul, open your hands.
Just because you don't understand the meaning behind the pain, it doesn't mean that it is all meaningless. It means that you are still a wanderer on the path to enlightenment, searching.
Just because we can't feel it, it doesn't mean that it isn't there.
And that's where we still have to do the work.
Not to create the meaning, to strengthen the faith, to search for the hope – but to heal enough to rediscover our senses.
The real challenge isn't in creating and making and finding, it's to see what is already there, to understand what is the divine truth, to connect with the aliveness and meaning and purpose that has been there all along.
I am the girl who fell into the black hole, a long time ago.
One day I will be the girl who climbed out.
Today, I think I will just be.
For a little while.