The Whole Enchilada

My purpose in this lifetime is to add light - through my writing, through my parenting, and through my interactions with other people.  To be more accurate, it's to reveal light that is already there.

This afternoon, as I was eating a 3-pound bag of chocolate wondering if I would keel over from a sugar overdose, I realized that I was shoveling food into my mouth and filling my guts with carbohydrates to dull my senses.

(Polluting my body helps temporarily block out transformation, growth and enlightenment.  In other words, it's easier to eat than to face things, am I right?)

I treasure spiritual growth...but it can be painful.  So sometimes I do my best to avoid it.  Even through the sugar high, I could feel a spike in my head.  The spike was a thought that wouldn't leave me until I wrote it down to share it.

The spike usually begins as a sliver.  I know it's there, but I can put if off.  The sliver represents new inspiration that is out of my comfort zone.  I'm not 100% sure if it's true yet, or how people will react if I share it. 

By the time it has grown into a spike, I know it's true.  I can't deny it.  I just need to use courage and the right words to share it.

This spike has been sticking out of my head for a while now.  It is so present that I'm starting to think other people can actually see it there.

So, to rid myself of this spike and welcome the next wave of transformation...

I used to think that my depression was a punishment.  I wouldn't have been able to articulate it at first, but I felt like I deserved it.  I felt like depression was me.  Depression is insidious that way, of course.  Personified, it would whisper, "Let me throw you off balance, help you forget your purpose, take over every aspect of your life, and then make you believe it's your fault."  Now I understand that experiencing depression and mania has shown me the extremes of human nature.

It better equips me to understand what's at stake.

Mania has shown me the magnificent, divine and terrifying power we have.  Our ability to connect to our higher selves allows us to shed self-doubt, be driven into a frenzy with excitement and possibilities, and to see the heavenly web woven between music, love, words, the sunlight, and almost anything in our path.  

Depression has shown me what happens in the absence of all that light. A deeply compressed, dark energy that dims the light in my eyes solicits concerned looks, a hand reaching out to touch my shoulder, and a quiet question, "Are you okay?"  It's never okay to answer honestly (ex. No, I'm barely alive and if I just ceased to be right this instant, I'd be okay with that.)  So instead, I answer, "I'm just tired.  I hurt all over.  I am not excited about life today."

Now that I'm in a period of relative tranquility and evenness, able to appreciate normal highs and lows, I have started reading about other people's experiences with mood disorders.  I have examined my past to try and make sense of how it all came to be.  

Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I have started to think of myself as more, rather than less.  Instead of carrying guilt, regret, and profound sadness, I see my extreme dual nature as a gift.

I am in love with my life.  I am grateful for this love and how it has expanded my vision of my place in the world.  

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