I’ve got you, I won’t let go.

a song to set the scene // where’s my love - piano solo by syml

I lay in the bath until the water ran cold.

As my fingers began to prune, my naked body shivered.

Curled in a ball, I stared at the stillness of the bathwater, disturbed only by the deep breaths of my quaking body.

The bubbles were gone.

The warmth was long gone.

All that remained were the tears, which flowed a constant steady stream down my broken face.

The bathtub, my sanctuary, had even betrayed me.

I no longer felt safe.

I don’t even remember how I got there.

Oftentimes, it doesn’t really matter.

It’s the fact that I’m there, again: in that dark place, with those all too familiar feelings.

You might know the ones.

Feelings of worthlessness. Feelings of not mattering. Of being a dissapointment to everyone you love.

Self-hatred became the tomb that I was burrying myself into. Thoughts of resentment were like dull prongs of a fork scraping across my tender heart.

You’re worthless, Elan.You ruin everything. Fix your emotions, manage how you feel. Look how much pain you cause. No one knows what to do with you. Who you are is an abomination. No normal person feels in depth like you. You’re better off not being here.

I didn’t necessarily like the feeling and I’ve never cared for the words. And yet, it was familiar. It was almost comforting, in a way. And it was easier staying there; safer, in fact, to stay in that place, than to reach out and ask for help.

Because “help”? Who would want to help me.

I don’t even want to help me.

As I lay there, blank eyes staring at a foreign body that was once mine, I thought: for a woman of my size and stature, I sure know how to feel like the smallest most insignificant speck.

What’s heartbreaking though, is that I truly believe I am the smallest and most insignificant speck.

As I get out of the bath, and sneak a look at my tear stained face in the mirror, my heart aches.

It sinks, six feet below the ground where I’ve been burrying myself in a tomb.

And so I fall. Down down down. As I’m disappearing, the hole gets smaller and the lights fade.

There’s no helping me now.

But somewhere, within the hurt parts of me, there sparks a longing. It almost feels like hope, that I might be saved.

Or at least offered a hand.

To be held, comforted.

Because in the end, that’s all I ever wanted: to feel accepted and acknowledged for feeling how I felt. All I needed was affirmation that something wasn’t wrong with me and that my feelings weren’t something that needed fixed. I just wanted to be, and feel safe as I was.

But words… I’ve never been good with them; at least, not in the moment.

And I didn’t have a keyboard, and it seems I’ve never had a voice; at least, not when it matters.

And so… I just settled back into the depression.

But there’s something that’s keeping me from falling.

An image: a flash, really.

Pictures: of me, as a little girl.

Pictures of me laughing and full of joy, life, and panache.

As these images flood my subconscious, I cling desperately to them. I grab hold of that little girl who’s hurting now and I embrace her, and all of her suffering.

This sweet, innocent child.

I don’t want her light snuffed out. I don’t want her to give up on those feelings of jubilation and glee.

But… I already have. It seems I’ve already let her down. I’ve disappointed her.

I’ve… failed her.

No. No no no no no no NO.

And so, from the very deepest depths of my soul, I speak.

Sliding to the floor, I bring my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around my legs. Swaying softly, back and forth, tears streaming rivers down my face, I whisper to her: “I’ve got you, I won’t let go.”

Over and over. Again and again.

“I’ve got you, I won’t let go.”

Tears gushing from the scarred place in my heart where dissapointment, self-hatred, and guilt reign supreme, I repeat the words until they’re the only things that fill me.

“I’ve got you, I won’t let go.”

Replacing the abusive language that comes from my crooked mouth, I continue the mantra, the lifeline, the saving grace:

“I’ve got you, I won’t let go.”

I don’t stop until I finally believe them.

And they fill me wholly with hope and promise.

I don’t stop until the little girl stops crying.

And the hurt parts of me feel acknowledged and accepted.

Until I can breath again.

I don’t stop until I’m aboveground and the light touches my skin.

Until I learn to once again embrace and love who I am and how I feel.

And the bathwater once again runs warm.

Boom.

a song to set the scene // the black hills by tim heintz

BOOM, thundered the sky.

Jostled awake, I looked to my window.

It was just after 5am.

I know that sound, I thought.

I nudged my gem, who was sleeping soundly beside me.

“It’s thunder,” I whispered, like a kid on Christmas morning.

Wrapping myself in the nearest blanket, I got out of bed and went to open my curtains.

Even at 5am, I could see clear as day.

It was pouring. With monsoon-like rain coming and pounding the metal roof of my house, I stood at the window and watched in awe at the torrential downpour quenching our thirsty earth.

While rain in Alaska isn’t uncommon, it had been near a month since our last shower. Combined with hot 70 degree days and active winds dancing across the Peninsula, and you have some very extreme fire danger.

So to not only wake up to rain but…

BOOM, clapped the clouds.

“It’s thunder!” I repeated again. I was sure this time.

Like I was saying: to not only wake up to rain but thunder as well is one rare occurrence here in Alaska.

Wide awake, and awestruck at being witness to such wonderful weather, I slid my window open just a little further to let the sound pour in.

With the smell of freshly picked lilacs from my garden and the sound of mighty thunder bellowing outside, it was a wakeup of the senses.

And it was sensational.

When I did finally crawl back under the covers to cuddle with my gem, mere minutes had passed before…

CLANG CLANG CLANG.

Bolting upright, I nudged my gem, yet again.

“Is that… hail?!”

Sure enough, rain had been replaced by pea-sized balls of hail, bouncing off the metal roof and landing softly on the grass.

What. The. Hail.

When the storm eventually settled, I enjoyed a few more minutes of sleep before starting my day. Sitting down to breakfast, I brought out a journal I hadn’t written in awhile, a “5-minute journal.”

I had been struggling, recently, with the dryness of my days. Lacking purpose and fulfillment, I’ve been feeling as though I’m repeating the same cycle, day after day: wake up, work, nap, eat, sleep.

Ironically, it was this mundanity and repetitiveness that inspired me to pull out the journal in the first place. For in the past, writing had forced me to really look inward to find goodness in each and every day.

Centered around the idea of waking up and going to bed with an appreciative, grateful, and positive pattern of thinking, I brought it out of hibernation in the hopes that it might enlighten me.

First question:

Today, I am grateful for…

Well hail that’s easy.

1.) Thunder!

As I sat at my table and finished answering the rest of the questions, I noticed the “quote of the day” by Gary Tan at the top of the page:

We don’t really want things. We want the feelings we think those things will give us.

We want the feelings we think those things will give us.

Huh.

Well that’s thought provoking.

And absolutely right.

As I sat there, in the quiet peace of the morning, I realized something.

It’s not the things that matter most. It’s the emotional response elicited from those things that hold the most meaning.

Take thunderstorms.

Obviously, I love them. But do you know why?

It’s not the actual thunder (though that science will forever amaze me). The reason I cherish thunderstorms so much is because of the memories they hold: trips to South Dakota visiting my grandparents, holed up in the house watching as thunderstorms raged across the plains.

I love thunder because of those tender memories. It invites some feeling in me that makes me get up at 5am and stare out the window like a kid on Christmas morning.

Maybe my days sometimes feel the same because I don’t take the time to really notice “feelings.” Perhaps, instead of giving up on myself and dwelling on the sameness of each day, I should instead focus on what those things can possibly evoke: joy, fullness, and an opportunity to witness a thunderstorm.

BOOM.