A little bit of this and that and the gift of blogs

This is a quickie because it's Friday night and I am doing NO school work until sometime tomorrow afternoon. I am also on the cusp of experiencing the thrill of sleeping past 5 a.m. and not using my alarm clock. For two whole days, mind you. (It's the best bit of crazy I can do with no man, no booze, no illegal drugs and such, along with MS.)

I had a great shrink appointment today. A good shrink is worth his or her weight in gold. I seem to finally be coming out of my deep, dark, filthy, black hole of depression life. I like to believe that all my morning meds are starting to peak and work at their optimum ability and the upping of my anti-depressant a few weeks back is really making me not want to harm myself.

I have been down that road, starting at a very young age. I recall crushing, smothering, painful depression when I was a fifth-grader.

Numerous suicide attempts when I was younger, scars both invisible and visible if you know where to look. A family that told me that my view of the world was wrong, that my feelings were wrong, that my experiences were as they told me, not as I recalled living them.

I learned at an early age to become withdrawn and to isolate myself in safe places like books or my few friends' homes. I loved to read, loved to ride my little yellow banana-seat bike to the public library of my tiny village. Books never hurt me, made fun of me, chastised me, placed me in a hole where I didn't fit. Books were provided trips to places and families I couldn't be a part of, gave me an escape to a land where I wasn't fat, or ugly, or in the way.

That is probably why I so enjoy the opportunity to write now. It's as if a forbidden fruit has finally been plucked and savored! How long have I stared at the tree, watching, hoping that the fruit would fall to the ground and I could swoop it up and carry it off secretly?

The answer is that I waited far too long.

I'm a prosey writer, too many words, too much of too many things, but there has been so much hidden away for years and now I am free. The words are like blood or oxygen, nourishing my soul and my body. It's like breathing deeply for the first time on a spectacular autumn day with your face turned up to the sun's rays, kicking up bundles of brilliant leaves with their yellow, orange, red, and brown.

Writing what I have these weeks, as openly and honestly as I have is my gift to myself. It is what I saw, what I lived, how I live now.

We all have our stories to tell, that's what makes so many blogs fascinating. If you write one, read one or both, my hat is off to you. It means that you also have found the gift of words and you bloggers, you choose to share it with both people who know you and others who are complete strangers.

I suspect if the people I worked with read this blog all the time they would view me differently. I have so much submerged that is never mentioned that there is no doubt that they would be surprised. I'm the iceberg in the teachers' room.

Global warming may be starting to thaw me but I'm okay with that. I'm just so happy that I have found my words again. Thank you for reading.