I was tired upon waking today, but I was able to get myself out of bed without too much trouble.  By the time I walked into work, I was positively charged for a full day of work.  Before I knew it, it was lunch time.  Soon thereafter, it was 3:46.  At 4:30, when it’s time to go, I was neither tired nor desperate to get home.  I was even looking forward to my therapy session, instead of anxiously dreading it.  I talked about why I missed therapy for so long.  I didn’t feel shame or fear that she would scold me, as I sometimes do.  And now, I’m home, in my robe, on my couch, petting my cat.

In short, today, I had an unusually anxiety-free day.  My leg didn’t shake like a mad woman’s.  I remembered to do everything I needed to do.  I was working as effectively as I have in years.  The peace of mind to focus is something I’ve been missing for weeks.  And now it’s back.  I’m happy.

I’m not angry nor in pain: I’m just doing well.

Up.  Down.  Up.  Up.  Even the inevitable Down isn’t getting me down today.  What a few days of taking my meds on time can do!  Why do I ever fall into bad habits when good habits make me feel so much better over a longer period of time?  I wonder now as I look down on the pit I’ve been digging for the last few weeks, why did I do that?  Why do I do that?  Depression, brain chemistry, lousy childhood, all of it: whatever the reason, I want desperately to stop.  Luckily, I didn’t dig the ditch too deep or for too long this time, but there’s always the next time.  There’s always a next time, no?

Experience says there is, but I’m starting to hear stories of people who survive this, who live at peace with themselves and their world.  Today, I lived a day from a life like that.  I still feel like the type of person who could live peacefully.  It might be a trick, but it doesn’t matter if it is; I want to frame this moment of balanced water—preserve it with delicate brushstrokes and hang it on my wall.