i sat next to him, dipping chips into the bowl of salsa, thinking about how i couldn't have enjoyed this 5 years ago. something strange: recently it's been about chaos theory for me.
a butterfly makes a tornado. the infinitely small becomes the chaotic whole. the universe bends towards entropy, and yet, chaos theory seems to argue - small motions make big changes.
chip goes into salsa. i eat a little bit. later, the chip is energy. later, the energy is movement. later, the movement is a memory. later, the memory shapes who i am.
i used to pretend i had already eaten. i used to be 30 minutes late so i could say eat without me. i used to say i didn't like chips or salsa. i'd chug my water and pray nobody noticed i was still nibbling the same chip i'd first picked up. i missed a lot of hangouts because i didn't want to grab lunch. i would eat by myself, curled up in the parking lot of a supermarket. hurried, anxious, embarrassed to be overcome.
5 years ago, i started saying yes to one more chip. 4 years ago, i could munch my way casually through a couple dozen. these days i am the one saying - can we have more chips when you get a second?
it didn't start with big changes. i thought it would have to - something was massively wrong with me, so i assumed recovery would take a natural disaster. the only way to fight fire was with an explosion. i would buy organizational journals, angrily clean my house for 10 hours straight, promise myself never again and know - i'd always slip backwards. i'm always going to be this way.
it wasn't big, though. 5 years ago i made a promise to stop it with the i'm going to kill myself jokes. for the sake of additional challenge, i also stopped saying i'm stupid. just two things.
i'm genuinely funnier these days. people laugh more with me. i find more things funny. when i mess up, it doesn't crush me. suicide no longer sits at the front of my brain. it is no longer the first option i picture. i forgive myself so easily. i no longer believe every mistake is emblematic of my personality. i have actually started to believe i am clever and smart - although i still want to add the prefix barely.
i still apologize too much. i still beat myself up. i still agonize over certain choices. i know i am not perfect. recovery is not linear.
but the joy in me is bigger. every time i choose to believe in it, every time i choose to make a little change towards hope - that joy in me grows.
when entropy rises up in my heart and i backslide and everything goes dark: the joy doesn't fully evaporate anymore. i slide just a little less. i bounce back just a little more. i go further this time. learn about myself. crawl up that slope with new skills in tow. i know what i'm doing these days; am getting good at finding handholds. i have started to learn how to catch myself while falling - instead of letting myself go.
a little change. ten years ago i googled depression self-help tips. little butterfly keystrokes. in the moment, nothing really happened.
ten years in the future: my life is full of love and healthy coping mechanisms. i have minimized a great deal of my symptoms. i spend a lot of my time laughing and creating and going out with friends. every time i hit a wall, i convince myself to get up, keep going, if it's hard just be harder, choose hope, choose just a little bit further -
i want to tell that version of myself, stranded in the desert: if you keep walking, all that sand will one day be water.
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