9:47 p.m. - Tuesday, Oct. 02, 2012
Story #2
I spent a little over a year as a recluse. There was only one human being I saw regularly. I saw a handful of others every few months or so - and was often a no-show when I had agreed to see someone. I worked very hard to destroy relationships. I barely saw the light of day. Usually, I only saw the sun when it was setting or rising. I slept about 12 hours a day. I admired the burns on my arms. There was something beautiful about it. The physical manifestation of emotional pain. I was static.
I'll never forget the first time I walked down the creaky wooden hallway in the old 18th-century music building. I could hear the voices from the chapel echoing down the central staircase. At the time, I had no idea how much time I would spend here. How much love I would feel. How much I would grow. How my life would change. I learned to meditate with the upward and downward momentum of the scales. I was moving again. The momentum started in my fingertips, worked its way up my arms, and into my soul.
I'm currently a body in motion. But I can feel the fear of the Lost Year in every pause before I open a door, every button I press when dialing a phone number, every lull in conversation, every gaze I meet, every decision I make. Sometimes it's subtle, and sometimes it's overwhelming. Sometimes I sit an extra minute in my car, or hang up before completing a phone call. Sometimes I avoid people in the hallway or make a decision, and then change my mind at the last minute. Reminders of where I came from.
This is a story I tell about who I am. As if telling this story somehow makes the Lost Year mean something. So that it's not lost. To justify my personality. To demonstrate that maybe I'm still introverted or awkward or whatever . . .but look how far I've come. And now I find myself doing the same with my body. Hi, I lost 70 pounds . . .As if I'm only allowed to love my body because I lost 70 pounds. The same way I'm only allowed to love where I am spiritually because of the Lost Year. So is that really love?
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