I'll keep this short and sweet.
I realize there are things we just can't get past as human beings. Death, being one of them.
In the wake of my uncle's passing, I took a week off from the blog to collect my thoughts, take care of my spirit, and write to my heart's contentment about the things that have been going on. I thought taking some time to myself would do me good and would allow me to sort things out.
I wasn't entirely right.
The time taken "for myself" was spent either in my bed or on the couch, glued to Hulu or Netflix or my jailbroken Firestick. I ordered food or ate left-overs, anything to keep from leaving my apartment.
I didn't leave for three days.
There was no music, no dancing, no reading, no epsom salt baths, none of the things that help me get through hard times. Not because I didn't want to do these things, but because I couldn't bring myself to do any of these things. I felt so low and so weighed down that I couldn't even stand to enjoy anything anymore.
The saying goes "time heals all wounds", but the time required is never specified. I thought that if I could just take a week for myself, then I'd be fine. But I knew then what I know now: I can't sleep grief away.
I can't isolate myself, cut myself off from the world, and expect to come back healed and empowered. Though I have the power to seek healing on my own, I don't oftentimes have the strength to do so. Sometimes, it takes more than me; sometimes I need help.
That's what therapy's for. That's what time with family, talking with friends, sunshine, and fresh air are for. And now that I've quit hiding myself away, I can finally pick up where I left off on this journey.
I can continue to heal and move forward at the same time.
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