Deep blue with gold accents, the cover called to me. It said “Fill me with words, your words, your days, your life.”
Only upon holding the journal in my hands did I realize I felt a deep sense of sadness; my life didn’t feel ‘worthy’ of the book I held.
I ended up putting it back that day, not buying it. Later, I picked up a cheaper journal with a boring paper cover and so-called inspirational quotes in it that did little to inspire me at all; on the contrary they seemed to mock me, because my life felt so uninspired.
I was sleeping more than 16 hours a day at that point, in the depths of a Bipolar depression that refused to relent at all. I lost most of 2017 to sleep, and a lot of 2016 to it as well. As long as I can remember at this point, with the exception of a week here or there spent traveling. Those weeks were forced, and I was barely able to deal with the fear and anxiety while they were happening. Somehow, I got through them.
Now, with a drastic change in meds (dropping one and starting another one I hopefully can afford going forward, time will tell…) I finally feel like I’m waking up.
The thing about emotions waking up is that you can’t pick and choose which ones rise to the surface. When they wake, they ALL wake and it can be confusing and intense to say the very least of it. But it feels better than staying numb, which I had been for so very long.
So, on Saturday I was back at Barnes and Noble.
They still had the book. The one my life didn’t feel worthy of this past year.
This time I bought it (on sale, to boot.)
My life is worthy of its faux gilded edges and pretty cover.
What’s more, I want to try to get back to being more myself than I have been in a long time, and make my life feel even more worthy of the pretty journal instead of the cheap, throw-away ones.
I bought the book. Now I just have to commit words to the pages in the coming year, and hope that in 2018 I will feel much more alive than I did in 2017.