But here I am. Six months of swimming and I'm treading water in the middle of the lake. This is the point in the swim where every direction possible is the same amount of effort, equally exhausting, not at all glorious seeming. I could turn around as easily as I could carry on towards what once seemed to be the ultimate destination. Equally, there are new directions I could swim. I could throw my hands in the air and declare "Fuck it all!" and stay camped out on the tiny island I'm clinging to for respite. Or, after finding strength, pick a new direction and just swim until I hit land.
It all sounds and feels a lot like giving up. I'm not prepared to give up, but it might be practical to consider what shore I want to hit and where I really see myself thriving. The brochures for the promised land are less and less appealing.
Before this post is written, I will have spent nearly a full 24 hours clinging to my small island. The sun rose and set and I barely moved from my spot. Anxiety in the water was too much, so I'm grabbing what small piece of terrafirma I can. Simply 'being still' and wearing out the switch that flips on the thoughts I'm too tired to think until finally the switch gives up and I'm exhausted.
Depression and anxiety are terrible. I'm sure I don't know the half of it, and I don't wish to, thanks. I know it's temporary. I'm confident I'll be ok. I'm coping how I am able. I am aware that it may not be sufficient, or right, or perfect, or enough. I don't want to be rescued. As tempting as it is to shoot a flare and flail my arms in the direction of a rescue boat, I'm afraid of what shore it will take me back to under the guise of safety. I need to figure out where to go next, not be forced.
So, I'll cling to my island and figure out the next steps to deciding which shore I'm swimming towards. I think I know, but I want to be confident. I miss confident.
Am I on this island to learn something big, or am I torturing myself needlessly? That's tonight's question. In the meantime? Just keep swimming....
