Deliverance

"Look at me. Look at me!", her sister insisted forcefully. Despite the volume of the request, it was pushed down, almost silenced by the chaos going on in her body and brain. At any moment she would succumb to the pain which surged through her; she was surprised she hadn't already. But then that nagging command to look subtly interrupted her thoughts, like a rock in the rapids, a rock which she perhaps could hold onto and keep herself from drowning. At last, drawing upon all the strength she had, and with a long, trembling breath, she willed her rolling eyes to stillness and they focused on her sister's intense stare.

"Keep looking. Don't look away. You can do this. You are doing this." She had a good grasp on the rock now. She was still very much affected by the rapids - they beat upon her as they had been for hours. But as long as she kept looking at those big eyes staring into hers, at least she wouldn't go under again. She could breathe. She began to breathe and breathe and breathe. She breathed hope and strength and love down throughout her body, surrounding the baby that would soon take a first breath on its own. She breathed the support of her sister into her mind, where it calmed the storm within if only for a moment. She breathed the grace of her Savior into her wings and soared until --

An entirely new sound pierced the air. A sound too beautiful to believe. The baby was finally here, making herself known to all within earshot.

"Mary has a sister!"

It was the first sentence I ever heard.

A writer who hasn't been writing

 Something made me think of this old blog tonight, and I went way back to read of happy college days. It was fun to remember how life was then: the friends I had, the things I was learning. It was fun to see the comments from those friends, and to feel validation from them even now. But the most fun, was to remember the days when I would write, and the joy I received when allowing myself to do so.

In 2009 I served a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. My blog became a place for my weekly emails. Those posts were the beginning of a long decrescendo as I lost myself in mental illness. Eventually I came home from my mission after serving for 10 months instead of the anticipated 18. It took years to recover, and in that time I wrote some blog posts, but I never look at those now. I was(/am?) ashamed of them. I thought they betrayed the real me. I have considered deleting them occasionally over the years. 

But now, I don't know if it's just that it's 3:11 AM or if I'm serious, but I think it's time to resurrect this little blog of mine. I don't expect the people who used to read it to rediscover it. Heck, I don't really expect anyone to read it. I know it will never be the same as it once was. I am not the same.

And I'll leave all those cringe-worthy posts which were written by a woman who was mentally unwell. Because though I consider myself recovered, that woman was still me.

Deep inside, I have felt out of sorts for some time now, and I believe the reason could be that I am a writer who hasn't been writing. It's time to try again.