teething

I've been learning a lot of lessons on dependency lately. In the past month, I have taken leave from work, been hospitalized for 10 days, moved to a city outside of Seattle, and am currently in partial hospitalization. Phew. That's a lot to say and difficult to get out.

This story started in the beginning of the summer when I decided to go to see a doctor about potentially taking medication for the deep depression that had hung over me for several years, but I had been too frightened, unsure, confused to do anything about it. So I went to the doctor, started my medication, and went along, slowly getting better and better.

And then I sank. In early October, I sank and sank and couldn't find air, like someone was holding my head underwater, and I couldn't find my way up. I let it take hold of me to the point of hospitalization due to the insistence of some very close friends. I spent 10 days in the psych ward, going to groups, attending therapy, and discussing medications. I felt a deep confusion in this coming back to life period, as if I were truly starting fresh and learning how to live all over again.

 

I've found myself in a decision-making seat that I never assumed before--what do I  want to do with my  life? I just don't know.

So here I am, one month after the initial hospitalization. For the past two weeks, I have gone to the hospital every day for outpatient treatment. Well, most every day. I've also had some dental work lately. I noticed last week that my wisdom teeth were bothering me--one breaking through the gums and the other stretching out in soreness along the bottom.

It was then I felt my most vulnerable of this whole month. Here I am: a child. Living with a dear friend's family, relying on others to help me get through each hour, each day. I'm in the middle of the biggest transition yet during my 2 years in Seattle. My most vulnerable transition--a child with missing teeth and a deep need for other people and a lack of independence, which I held so dear.

So I am learning. I am learning a lot. Like what it means to live without  concern for what everyone else thinks of me but rather what I think--who I am, where my life is leading to.

 This may be vague, but it is where I am--the first step forward. And it is represented through my shaved head-- a sign of doing something because I wanted to, a sign of grief for all that I have lost the past years, a sign of renewed freedom in self and a welcoming of all things new in the world to within me.

I may be just beginning, but most days, each step is forward.