Tuesday at 3:33 a.m. I drafted a letter to myself about how depressed I was. It was a typical journal entry; it described the monster invading my brain like enemy forces. How it seemed impossible to happy no matter the blessings that came my way. I wrote about my recent struggles with unhealthy eating habits. Documented how almost everything that went down came straight back up for almost four months… a nasty habit that is still not easy to overcome. I recounted the challenge of preventing a relapse in my self harm which is an everyday horror I face. These were all the thoughts swirling around my exhausted head at 3:33 in the morning just four days ago.
A lot can happen in four days.
So much of myself has died in the battle against my depression these past five years. My vision of myself became repugnant; there was never an ounce of beauty on the inside or out. I’d spent a quarter of my life trying to force something that I believed was impossible to acquire. But in these four days, I found light in my life for the first time in months. It encouraged a type of positivity I never knew I could come to possess again. I found content in who I am as a person.
I stood in front of my mirror, naked and vulnerable, and didn’t cry in disgust at my body. The darkness inside me didn’t cast loathing towards the extra fat on my waist or the stretch marks I’ve gained on my thighs. I didn’t frown at my arms as I saw the flap come down whenever I lifted them up. Tears didn’t form when I thought about the people who have seen this very body and left. For once, I smiled at the girl who has been through hell and back over the years, convincing herself that she could never be enough for anyone, and yet managed to find happiness in herself. Find herself to be enough.
I am own light.