I’ve been remiss in maintaining my blogs, this blog in particular. There are a number of reasons for this but only one truly matters: I lost my way.
I lost my way because I grew to be too complacent about my recovery. Things had improved so much, the sense of joy I was living through had become so common, that I slowly allowed my tools to gather dust, one by one.
This blog, and its sister blog, The 3 of ME, were no exception. They too fell into disuse. I lost sight of the importance of these blogs and the purpose of each. The 3 of ME is my letter to my son, and I stopped writing to him. jots and thoughts is my exploration of gratitude, and I stopped celebrating it. I could be kind to myself and say I forgot, but that wouldn’t be truthful. I simply stopped.
Losing my way hasn’t been without a price. I’ve been plagued with the darkest of intrusive thoughts, and have suffered bouts of melancholia. Indeed, I’ve fallen into another depressive episode.
I’m fortunate that this episode isn’t nearly as deep or as dark as that which nearly led to my death. I’m fortunate that I’ve gathered friends who’ve reminded me of my tools. I’m fortunate that I’m able to blow the dust off and put them to work once again.
And so, I return to my blogs to write once again. I owe this to my son. But most importantly, I owe this to myself.