The only way to honor the death of your old self is to live the self the old you always dreamed of.

I’ll admit, some days I look back. I’ll look back at the part of me that was always sad, always dreading the next day, always anxious without rest, trapped inside a box labeled depression without a destination or home that would open me up and take me out. I’ll look back at that part of me and wonder, if in another world, I’m still living that ruin; that even though I have officially transitioned into a better life, is there a space that exists where I haven’t arrived yet?

The thought makes me sad because I hate to think there’s someone out there that feels the way I used to.

It happens most when I’m dancing, making a new tune on an instrument I never thought I could play, or singing my lungs out in the car; it happens most when I’m alone. I’ll look back and wonder if she’s there. The old me still suffering. All the things I find myself doing now I never did with her, my old self. I wouldn’t dance because I was afraid to overstep; wouldn’t play as if that one spot on the wall, I’ll check to see if she’s watching; as if my old self is in the room with me. Hiding. No one can see her anymore.

Sometimes, I think —
that if I could just see her again,
maybe, just maybe,
things could have been different.

The thing that draws me back to my old self the most is the thought of my new-self. The self that is me, now. And when I’m actively thinking about my life now, all I want to do is tell my old-self to be patient; as if there’s a world where I’m the future, the thing I had been waiting for all my life.

I didn’t realize it was a prison, I’ll look back at her and wonder why she’s always in a cage, and then I’ll realized it’s because something doesn’t want her to get out.

But I got out, and it was the best decision, I wonder why anyone wouldn’t want someone to experience this.

And then it hit me, no one good would want to keep us from experiencing happiness, joy — peace. No one good.

That means if we’re in a cage, it’s because someone bad is keeping us here. And if its hard to get out, its because that someone is really good at convincing us the cage is for our protection.

I’ve shed my oldest layer of skin; the layer I never thought would come off, the mother skin. The invisible weight that pressed down on my shoulder every time I wanted to do something different; something new, something daring. To be bold enough to surrender your shame regarding The skin that didn’t want me to grow, the layer that told me I’d never be good at anything at all.

I’ll never not come back to her.

Such a toxic trait to miss her, mourn her, grieve her.
To want to talk to her one last time after crossing over to the other side; the side where its water, where its green, where we don’t have to worry

anymore.

It’s the feeling of, how did I end up here? I look around and the ground is crushed by my landing yet I myself, am fine.

How did I fast-forward all this time when it seems like just yesterday, I was suffering from depression? It’s like I skipped all the work it was going to take to heal because life no longer feels like work, it just feels like living.

I take a deep breath like I’ve been under water for so long, waiting for this wave of clarity, this gasp of air, this moment that says I’m alive.

It’s the feeling of I made it, like when you take a picture you weren’t ready for but somehow managed to like. You made it, just in time. The right angle, face, clothes, moment.

I look up to my Creator and say I get it now. Everything adds up, it makes sense, joy exists, and no one can tell me I’m wrong.

I get it now.

And all I had to do was be brave, sacrifice suffering, and shave off the skin that kept me warm in a body of sadness. Sadness is so warm and oddly comforting that sinking into it seems like a good idea. Sad bodies crave the heat and any layer taken off makes us so cold, we can’t even imagine such devastation.

I look back and wonder if I’m everything she thought shedding that skin would be worth it for.

And then my heart aches over stupid things; like sometimes, when I feel really good, I feel guilty, because we both couldn’t live at the same time. Sadness doesn’t exist in the daytime, and one day, I chose to open the blinds.

I did do the work.

It’s been months now, almost a year, since I started the road to recovery from the depths of my sadness.

The age of this blog is proof alone that I have slowly committed to changing my life from what it once was.

And what it now is,
is joy.

So, when I’m dancing, I feel this sense of freedom that’s so full that it’s like a balloon one pump away from overinflation — a balloon just about to pop, that’s how full I am. Sometimes, it’s so overwhelming that I look back at that point on the wall, where I just so happen to know that’s where she’ll be, and I look at her; she looks at me, and her eyes tell me thank you.

And it makes me sad because she was the sacrifice I had to make in order to get out of the cage, but she looks at me like she’s happy I did.

What about you? What layer of skin do you need to shed?

What will the old you thank you for later?

Think about it.

Cheers,
B.