It’s coming back again. The discipline. I’m eating much better (except for the holiday party at work last night). I’m pulling together the threads of my life to try to weave something useful, beautiful.

I don’t even have to wonder what it all means. I know. At least, I think I know. It’s a mental disorder. A chemical rapids I’m meant to navigate. Sometimes it’s too rough, and I’m thrown against the rocks, left semi-conscious and barely able to breathe. Other times, it’s almost a fun ride. I’m reasonably sure that’s dysthymia in its purest form.

What’s next? The push to ride these rapids all the way to that calm pool at the end before the next rough spot knocks me off course. The push to put my life in order enough that the remission sticks. In spite of the reality, at least for now, I believe I can.

– Mary