The simple answer is I made a choice. Really, I made a few choices along this meandering road that seems to have brought me back full-circle. All that's changed from my initial starting point is the scenery. Instead of the beautifully peaceful woods of Pennsylvania, it's the quaint and lively suburbs of Boston.
The long answer is I got here by way of depression. By way of a broken and damaged soul. Four years ago, I chose to leave a failing marriage to save myself. It was the first selfish act I had done in many, many years. Sure, I had my "selfish" moments before then; spending money on frivolities instead of on things that were necessary and the like, but nothing that was selfish for my being.
I found Christ along the way, while living in the tranquil woods of Schwenskville, and He spoke to the parts of me that were broken, and began mending me bit by bit. Even through the mending, I still battled a silent demon inside. Depression. So I began making more choices and changes, trying desperately to run away from the demon, to scare it off. And for a while, it seemed to work.
Three years ago, I made the choice to transfer jobs and made my plans to move to Boston. This time three years ago, I was interviewing for the position, having yet to have told my family and friends that I was actually going through with it. I had talked for months about wanting to move but it was all talk at that point.
So I moved. I moved to a city where I knew next to no one, save for the few coworkers I talked to regularly over the phone and email or that I had met over the previous year during my visits. It felt so right; I felt God had come to me and said "Follow this path. It is time." So I did.
The first year is a blur to me at this point; shortly after moving, Depression had found me again. Like an abusive partner tracking down his prey, it found me again. I remember I cried a lot. I drifted through each day, trying desperately to hold myself together and hold onto the few friendships I had started. I got into a relationship that, at first, was really good. Depression left, I didn't need medication for it anymore and I was happy. Life was good. Until the bottom dropped out and I was unprepared. It was there, at the bottom, Depression found me yet again. Mother. Fucker. That's about all I could think at that point. How? Why? Questions I cried into my pillow many nights. For the next two years, I struggled to rebuild the relationship, because it felt right. It felt like it was supposed to be. And every time things would start to get better, the walls would crumple up like paper. And yet I persisted, more times than I like to admit.
The definition of insanity: doing the same thing over and over expecting different results. I had lost my fucking mind. I watched my surroundings become a cluttered mess, and watched myself care less and less. And then one day, I stopped caring all together. I was on autopilot, doing what I needed out of survival instinct. I found myself right back where I had started before moving to Boston. I'm sure if I were to read through older posts here, I'd find something similar written years ago.
And then something different happened. I woke up one day and my heart felt lighter. I looked around me and found Depression, shrunken and starved, cowering in the corner. I looked at it, glowering at me with those sad eyes, begging to be fed. Instead, I walked out and started my day. I didn't know, by the end of that day, I would have a fight with the very person I had been in love with for the last three years, and that would be the final breaking point that ended the love I felt. It was the most freeing moment of my life. I cried as we argued over something stupid, cried because I could see the total lack of care in his eyes. I could see clearly that his words said "I want our friendship back and that's all I want" while his actions told me there wasn't an ounce of care in him left. I could die tomorrow and his life wouldn't change a bit - the thought that broke through the last bit of love for him in my heart. In great clarity I realized his heart was so closed, he was utterly incapable of loving anyone, because he barely loved himself. With that last lingering thought, I walked away. While I felt stronger, I also felt utterly lost. That the one thing I had fought so hard for was officially over, and I had lost the battle. But I haven't lost the war.
I sleep alone, which has taken time to adjust to, but beyond that, I am not alone. I have two really solid friends who have been my rocks in Boston. They each touch a different part of my heart, and it doesn't ache as much anymore. I am blessed beyond words to have them, and while they may not know it, they saved my life in many ways.
Depression still hangs on to me by a few threads, but I've done my best to stop feeding it. Once I realized it was feeding on my soul, and how close it was to devouring me again, I made a change. I reached for those two friends instead of shutting the door to my heart and allowing the feeding to go on.
Life isn't so bad. I have a few good friends, I've let go of the toxic friendships that were ruining me, and I'm starting to be happy again.
I don't know where I'm going, so I'm still utterly lost, but instead of crawling into myself and asking God "why me? Why do I deserve this?", I'm asking Him "show me where to go. Heal my broken heart so I can find someone who loves You as much as I do, and can share that love with me, through You."
I may not be where I thought I would be, but I know I am where I should be. Where I find myself finally breaking out of the circle, and forging a new and unknown path.
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