If my head can make me sick, it can also make me better.
I am smart. I am competent. I am determined, stubborn, independent, capable, and creative. I am not afraid to take a leap away from something safe and towards something scary. I may carry my landing gear in my head, but I’ll always land on my feet. This time is no different.
I am going to be ok.
I am not broken. I am not a wreck. I am not a disaster.
This is just a case of emotional pneumonia, and hospitals are a terrible place for that. But I can get better. And I will. A little rest and a little time, and I’ll be feeling better.
I lost myself somewhere in a diagnosis, but that isn’t me. I have depression, but it doesn’t get to define me. I am still me. I can still believe that life is too short for bad coffee, bad hugs, and bad jobs. I can still drive to the beach to watch the sunset. I can still drink too much coffee and sleep too little. I can still stress too much, and find peace on a swing set. I can still drive barefoot, sit on the floor, and refuse to use a microwave.
The best piece of advice I ever got was from a high-school friend of mine. I was in an awful relationship, and was finally starting to see it. When I asked my friend, “how do you know when enough is enough?” His answer: “when you have to ask that question.” So simple, but so fitting.
Well, enough is enough.