Dropping Weights.

When I was younger, and things were much simpler, I just didn't give a shit about anything. I worried about me, and nobody else (besides my family). I didn't even start pulling decent grades until high school, and not because anyone told me I was headed down the shitty path (though plenty of people did). I simply started doing the work because I figured colleges cared about grades, even if I didn't.

I always wanted to just...be. Especially in the last two years....from mid-2009 to November 2010 I basically existed within the confines if a deep, dark depression. There were days that were so bad I didn't have the strength to get out of bed, let alone feed myself anything more than a bowl of rice. If I was lucky enough to get a Netflix that day, I'd lie on the couch and escape into a world that didn't exist for a while. Anything to get away from the despair I felt in my own life. I didn't sleep, I began to hate my own bedroom because all I did at night was stare at the ceiling and wish for the refuge of sleep that never came. Some nights I dragged my blankets out into the living room and just lay on the couch, channel surfing until I found something dull enough to put me to sleep. Not only did I give a shit, but I carried it all around with me, like some sort of ugly piece of heavy jewelry, that rattled with every step, reminding me of its presence.

I hated the fact that I felt anything, because all that I felt SUCKED. I had no job and kept failing at finding one. No boyfriend (which I don't mourn, but I did then). I had barely enough money to pay the rent, and some months I scraped by purely by the grace of God. And worst of all, Raul, a 19-year old boy with hopes and dreams and deeper faith than anyone I knew, was dead. Nothing made sense.

One early morning over a year ago, after another night of lying in bed and weeping, I got up and turned on the TV. There was nothing on (in English, anyway), but I clicked on, hoping to find something with at least some kind of storyline. I finally stopped on one of the many Jesus channels, on some sort of sketch act that actually seemed amusing. The two actors went through several scenarios depicting ways that people accumulate baggage during their lifetimes, and that in order to be productive and functional and happy, one needed to drop all the baggage (illustrated by actual heavy bags one of the actors carried around) and move on. Their main point was that one did this with the help of God. I wished to be someone who could simply drop it all.

Almost by instinct, I walked to my dresser, where in a top drawer, hidden by knick knacks, I had a small, hand-painted, heart-shaped box. Inside was a pair of earrings, in my birthstone. Anthony gave them to me for my birthday. As I stood there and gazed at the little box in my hand, I realized that I felt nothing for the box, nor the original gifter. I immediately felt that I needed to get rid of the box and its contents as soon as possible, but I didn't want to throw them away, nor did I want to be so heartless as to pawn them. On impulse, I grabbed my car keys and drove to the best place I could think of: Anthony's mom's house.

(I know what you're thinking. I'm kind of insane for driving to my ex boyfriend's mom's house at 5 o'clock in the morning. I probably was and I don't question my mindset at that time. I wasn't well and I don't pretend that I was. And that's that.)

When I got there, I ran up to the porch and dropped the box in the mailbox on the porch. No note, no explanation for how or why they got there. I wasn't looking for drama or fanfare...I simply didn't want them anymore. I quickly ran back to my car and drove home. As I got back on the freeway questioning my sanity, I was overcome with a feeling of...weightlessness. Like I had just shed a 50 pound weight in the span of less than an hour. I couldn't quite figure it out. Was it truly insanity? Joy? Or simply sleep deprivation? No idea.

I got home, went back to my spot on the couch and laid down again. On my phone were a couple of messages from two friends; one old, and a new one that would change my life in ways I couldn't ever imagine (though I didn't know it at the time). They could wait. As I finally, finally drifted off to sleep, I drowsily smiled to myself as I realized what that feeling was.

It was the first inklings of freedom.