And since it is still April, for a few more days at least, I thought I'd share this essay. I wrote it my junior year of high school, so PLEASE be generous when judging the writing skill. The assignment was to write an essay about what the changing seasons mean to us. I think I started out with that basic plan, but it very soon devolved into a big metaphor for the ebb and flow of my SAD and the corresponding intensity of my ED. (Look at me with my Job reference down there, wow this was a long time ago, you take yourself so seriously when you're 17...). The depression and ED symptoms always absolutely swallowed me in the winter months. I tended to bottom out in February, sort of realize things needed to change but procrastinate taking action in March, and finally start emerging from my private hell a bit in April.
4-17-04
When Waters AbideIt is early April. There is still a trace of winter in the air, enough to cover my car with a delicate shawl of ice, more of a decorative, lacy frosting than the punishing thick sheets of February. The only thing that comforts me as I scrape the windshield every morning--knees shivering and fingertips losing all hope of sensation--is the sight of my neighbor's pear trees blossoming, sickly bundles of twigs changing overnight into colorful promises of spring. A fresh season is edging in, gently putting winter to rest after too many months of frigid air and early sunsets. Spring is tucking the tired winter season into bed under a blanket of tender green grass and bold dandelions.
For me, it seems that the coming of spring both slows and speeds time. In the winter I feel as though I just stop living for a few months. I go through the motions, wearing my mask--holding it so tightly to my face that I nearly suffocate. I pretend to exist. Did I fool you?
As the days gradually get longer and brighter, as the ice covering both my windshield and my spirit begins to recede, I am reminded that yes, I am here, and so is the world, and I should go out and become reacquainted with it. Better go out and try your best to do your growing and blooming before the year comes full circle and that seasonal dropcloth swathes your mind again. Long, sunny evenings are like a balm for a cracked and bleeding soul, but the warmth and bliss of those extended evenings paradoxically makes them seem even shorter. There will never be a summer evening long enough for me.
Winter is desolate enough to make me long for summer's sun burns and mosquitos and dreaded family vacations. I crave the feel of sun-baked cement searing the bottoms of my bare feet--such a delicious hurt that reminds me that I'm alive, and at least for a short time am happy to be as such. Nothing compares to the feeling of a sun's warm kiss on bare skin or the smell of freshly cut grass. Nothing compares to waking up on a summer morning without the icy dread of another dreary day, without feeling like the weight of the world is compressing your heart until you start falling asleep praying that it will squeeze too hard in the night and save you from facing yet another winter's morning.
Does the desolation come from winter, or simply from lack of summer? Does it matter? Does my internal winter ever really retreat, or does summer sun simply serve to blind me from "the hands that reach out to destroy," letting me live in blissful, tanned ignorance for a few precious months?
It is April. The earth is reawakening, looking more like itself every day. Every new bud and every fresh blade of grass is like a peace offering, to make up for every shiver and every ice-tinged breath. Spring cleanses me, pacifies me, and allows me to finally come up for air after winter has had my soul by the throat for far too long.
It is April now, but it will not always be April. And that is why I stay scared.
------------------------------------------
As a historical note, it turned out my English teacher decided to have us read these out loud in front of the entire class the day we turned them in. And you know what? I did it. I only remember my voice wavering once or twice. It was simultaneously one of the most terrifying and freeing moments of my life.
I guess I will close this on an upturned note with one of my favorite quotes, which seems passably relevant here:
In the depth of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer
~Albert Camus
3 comments:
i think it was written beautifully, and i could actually really relate to a lot of it - even now - i HATE winter, and i seem to always do the worst ed-wise and then when it starts to get warm, like you, i begin to do better. in fact my mom used to joke with me that all my anorexic clothes were winter clothes, and all my "healthy" clothes were summer clothes.
but, regardless of all that, i'm just really glad you're where you're at now. you've come so far. proud of you.
Wow. I am thoroughly impressed. This is incredibly deep and moving. The descriptions are so spot-on, and I could feel the heaviness of the mood. Really great writing. I also agree that winter is tough. Where I live we tend to have grey all winter. It's not super snowy, but just grey, and I find that the lack of sun really does a number on my mental health.
I'm sorry it's been rough to go through all of the old stuff. But it's great that things aren't that way anymore, you've come so far! Take care, and good luck sorting through the rest of it!
Have you ever read either "Spring" by Edna St. Vincent Millay or "The Wasteland" byt Eliot? Not sure if you're a poetry person (I'm usually not!) but I read these both for a class last year and found them to be really beautiful. Anyway, the April stuff reminded me of them. And for the record, you were a FANTASTIC writer, even back then.
Post a Comment