The 40 watt light bulb has been replaced with a 75. The floor is swept. The cobwebs cleared. The cinder block walls scrubbed clean.
The boxes organized and stacked neatly on gray steel shelves.
And the door has been repainted a curious green, but the doorknob turns easy; the rusted lock brushed, polished and oiled, but left undone.
The whispers are silenced.
The chill dampness replaced with a humid warmth, like the atmosphere itself is an embrace.
My room has been a metaphor for fear for so long, so much older than that January post...I can hardly begin to describe the change I find when I return there. I am stronger than I have been in two years. And my life, both metaphorically and literally, mentally and physically, is reorganizing. Sorting. Falling into places I would not have guessed it would fit.
Yeah, the meds are working.
I realize reading back on that post, I was wrong. I thought I was describing the hold food had on me. I know now that that room was pure fear, pure depression, pure exhaustion. And now, somehow, I have let it all go. Or most of it at least.
My wife and I are facing what may be the most challenging chapter in our lives together. And still, calmness. What will be, will be. And nothing can change that. But right now I have the present. That is all any of us really own. This moment. That's it. And the past either owns us, or we release it, if we are both strong and lucky, keeping only the memories
Will my room stay so neat and calm? I doubt it. My life cycles in and out, from order to chaos and back.
Isn't it wonderful?
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