See, writing every day totally hasn’t happened. But I have to learn to be okay with that. I have to learn to be okay with a lot of things, it’s the only way to get better. I feel like this writing is supposed to be more. More what? Just, well, more.
I forget that it is often the small things that have the biggest impact. Water gently flowing down a mountain side after a thousand years will have made a canyon. Not a grand canyon of course, but still, a canyon will exist where there once wasn’t. Can I learn to be that gentle flow of water? Alright, that’s enough, stop laughing. I know gentle is absolutely not a word to use to describe any part of me, but I’d like to think I can learn that too. My mom, now she was gentle and persistent; she was flowing water. She was a constant, cool, refreshing, ever gentle flow of goodness, peace, and love. She made a grand canyon in my heart, majestic and wondrous. She left behind such a mark that when she died, it remained. I have always wanted to be even half the woman that she was.
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The dr. agreed that the meds were helping, and also agreed that I needed a little more. The extra was definitely the right call. I already feel more at peace than I have in a very long time. My th0ughts have slowed and quieted significantly. I feel in control, subdued even. It’s sometimes unnerving to have quietness in my skull. I feel out of place on occasion, like I am watching myself from under the surface of a deep lake. I don’t mind it so much, but I know it will get tiring eventually, and I do not want to get stuck there. But for now, I will enjoy it and use it to my advantage.