I thought the journey to recovery was all about learning to paint again. I thought it was about moving on from failure and heartbreak.
Instead it has become an excavation. As I dig deeper and deeper into the pile of debris in my mental library, I find myself discovering forgotten thoughts and images. Broken, abandoned pots buried under lost memories.
Will I ever go back to who I was? Why am I still here and not dead? What is my purpose? Is there a lesson? Tell me, God, is this about learning to trust you more? My life is so out of control, and it’s scary stumbling along in this lonely, new world of mist and shimmering shapes.
Maybe this is about learning to let go of my fears.
Or maybe it is something far less complex, yet no less powerful. Like simply learning to breathe.