Through

Author's Note: Similar to "All the Ways," this is quite notably one of the most vulnerable and personal things I've ever written for the same reason. This is a sister poem to it.

Through

The darkest days

a cold winter night was one

I watched some events fall into play right in front of my face after a few texts
I made some phone calls where no one picked up
I remember the song I was streaming
I still hate that song like it's a bad omen
I began sobbing in the middle of my run
Then it turned to a panic where I couldn't breathe
which turned to me collapsing to the strange warmth of the turf of the football field
hoping the earth would hold me
swallow me
or bury me alive
then I left
running home talking to my brother on the phone
frantic
and desperate
I didn't want to live
I arrived home knowing I could terminate it all in seconds
I never told him that
he knew
I'll don't know how, but he did
he told a friend of mine, unknowingly to me
"Something's wrong. She's hurt."
he couldn't save me
but he tried

a more frigid winter day was another
I hit rock bottom the morning of an appointment
I couldn't keep my shit together
couldn't stop crying
even worse, it was almost Christmas
and I was very much all alone until I drove to my parents a few days later
I talked it out with my doctor
my counselor
I didn't want to talk to him
I just wanted to be around anyone who was familiar
I didn't care who
So I reached out to some friends
texted some
called some
even left a card on a porch of one, I believe
and no one,
no one was there for me.
I could still end it.
Who the fuck would even care?
After all, no one returned my calls, texts, anything.
I told my doctor counselor I wouldn't harm myself.
I said I was fine.

So instead,
I tried the antidepressant
I hated how it made me feel 
It made me numb 
I didn't feel like myself
I felt like a shell of a person who didn't exist anymore
I couldn't feel
I couldn't even cry
I went for a run that day too 
but
I couldn't run
My body was screaming at itself, devoid of life
so much heaviness
literal heaviness in my veins, concrete in my legs
but still I made an effort
I still was moving 

Somehow.

These were two of the lowest days of my life.
I know I've had others.
But these were the two worst.
I remember so many parts of them, most of which are not pleasant memories,
but I also recall this:
I trudged through.
Pushed through.
I tried.
I held onto some words I'd remembered from a friend. 
A promise I believed even in the tenebrosity.
I still threw on my layers, laced up my shoes, and I ran. 

How did I do that?
Any of that?
Is that resilience?
Strength?
Routine?
My last thread of hope?
Me still trying?
Part of healing?

Even years later, I honestly don't know.
My best guess is that maybe I was somehow still fighting--trying anything that might help me feel better.
Or maybe I just hate not working out that much.
I run no matter what the day brings.

Another guess is this: "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...."

One word stands out in that line more than any other:
Through. 

Not around.
Not above.
Not running.
Not drowning.

I walk through the valley.

I walked through the valley. 
Past tense. 
And walked, not ran. 
It took time.


Through. 
Preposition.
"moving in one side and out of the other side of (an opening, channel, or location) [my depression]"
"continuing in time toward completion of (a process or period) [my depression]"


Through meant I wasn't staying. 

Through meant I went from a crawl to a saunter to a jog to a run to a full fledged sprint.

Through meant there was an end, an out, a mountaintop view that’s been so amazing now that I’m there. 

I made it out.

And I made it out, I made it through, more than alive.