|Me, in Virginia, around 1999|
In the past couple of days I've been parked on the couch, scanning photos. I took a gazillion photos pre-digital days, and if you didn't know it, acid will eventually eat away at the ink and turn your photos darker and darker until you've lost them.
That analogy, of things turning darker and darker, is pretty apt. Some days, like today, I don't know how much more I can take. That's when it's helpful for me to look back so I can look forward.
Does that make sense?
By looking back, I can remember not just the amazing times commemorated by photos, but the darkest memories that never were captured on film. I look at these photos and I'm hit with instant recall of the time. Not all of those times were joyful. But time does march on, and that's what I keep reminding myself.
I refuse to think my physical pain and current level of depression are forever. I've made it out of a couple of abysses in my life, and I can do it again. It's hard, when you're in the middle of the maelstrom, to think anything will ever change, but I like to think, CHOOSE to think, there is a way out.
I just don't know when yet.
I keep saying I don't know how much more I can take, and that I just can't do this anymore -- and then I keep moving forward. It's what I have to do. It's the only way out of the abyss. I may think right now I'm useless, getting nothing done, doing no good for anyone, including myself, but I have to remember I've been stuck before. I can get unstuck again. I need more and more help the more holes I fall into, but I'm so very lucky to have friends, family, and memories to get me out.