The Year of Recovery: 2015 Part 1

For 2015 I had kept a journal. On New Years Eve I had managed to finish the journal and look back through it all. This past year was my year of recovery. While I had been long out of my abusive relationship, it took some time for me to realize the extent of its impact on my life. By the beginning of the year, I had broken down. The high that I felt immediately after the break had worn off. The energy I had gained from the freedom waned. Everything slowed down and I started to see things within myself that I was otherwise distracted from by all external possibilities. My Fall 2014 semester at NYU was my worst semester by far. I had so many things interfering with my newfound zeal for life that I gained that previous spring. Worsening illness and family problems put me in a state of chronic stress that led to my crash at the end of the semester. Once that semester ended, I felt so numb and empty. The zeal I had before had no stable foundation to latch onto. Hopelessness and aggravated depression filled its place. I made a bed in that dark hole I was in and I cried for day. I felt robbed.

In the beginnings of 2015, I stopped crying. The dark hole wasn’t doing it for me anymore. I was tired of all the worrying and the aggravation. I tried to get in touch with the little me in my head that still wanted to live. She was there banging and screaming – all this time hoping that I would hear her and listen. She wanted to feel excited. She wanted to see progress and innovation. She wanted to see people be happy. She wanted to experience every sensation life has to offer. She wanted me to get up and get out of the rut I was in. She wanted me to rise above all adversity. She wanted me to live. I held onto that hope she gave me and I climbed out of the darkness. I entered 2015 stumbling and squinting into the light of uncertainty – into the future


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