i wanna dance

...and other dreams i've had.

Freedom is a little Black girl wearing jelly sandals with two puffs in her hair. She hears the ice cream truck jingle down her street. She buys two of the same kind. The first so she can eat fast because she’s so excited. The second so she can savor the taste as she remembers the first time her and her grandmama shared this flavor. There’s a lifetime of knowledge waiting on her at the bottom of the cone.

It’s a Saturday night and I’m on the dance floor. I’m wearing a very cute romper and I’m dancing the night away without a care in the world. I don’t care about the cost of drinks or how I’m going to get home. My feet don’t hurt and I’m not concerned about how I look to the rest of the crowd. I am free.

Then rays of sunlight hit my face and I’m awake. I’m sad to open my eyes and discover that I have simply been dreaming…

~~~

I’ve been thinking about liberation a lot lately. What does it mean to be truly liberated? Not just from an oppressive system, regime, political climate - but wholly liberated from yourself. I am still a prisoner within myself. Crippled by expectations, self doubt, and an ever growing weight loneliness. Nonetheless, lately, liberation has been on my mind. What would it feel like to live in a liberated state of being? I don’t know. And honestly, sometimes it scares me to think about it because I fear I’ll never get there. Being liberated is something I wish I understood and a feeling I wish I could hold onto for longer than an hour.

Since leaving treatment, I’ve had to remind myself that I’m in recovery. That having depression and anxiety are not my defining characteristics but things I simply have to live with. I find myself often parroting lines told to me by teams of therapists and doctors - constant streams of we have to acknowledge our emotions but not live in them or remember what’s in your toolbox.

While my days are more good than bad, I am still bogged down and terrified by the bad ones. I live in a constant fear that the bad will over take the good and I will be in the same position I was less than six months ago. But I’ve come to learn that even this fear is also part of my recovery. In treatment, I told my therapist about this looming sense of dread that would over take me when I started feeling ok - not even good, just ok. Like there was no point in feeling good because something terrible was going to happen. She told me that this is normal. My body had become so used to living in constant fight or flight, so used to living in a constant state of worry and panic that anything to the contrary was going to confuse it. Basically, being on edge and panicking was my body’s normal. (How delightful.) She then went on to say we’d have to work to retrain my body. I had to teach my mind and body that being calm was ok and not a reason to start panicking all over again.

My body, my mind, were keeping themselves and me prisoner. I often still feel like a prisoner - just now I’m a prisoner with generous yard time and a lax visitor policy. Though I still count this as a massive improvement, I wish to be completely free. Liberated. In those moments when I can break free from the shackles of my mind, I fight like hell to remain free for longer and longer periods. I’m taking joy in the little things that make me happy. Making blueberry pancakes on a Sunday morning before church. Wednesday nights with my walking group. Watching yet another true documentary with my roommate. This is what calms my mind. This is what causes my shackles to loosen their iron grip.

But it’s so much easier than it sounds. Every day I have to work for these moments. I don’t know if you all really understand what it is to be a prisoner to your own mind. The fight towards liberation is tiresome and I often wonder if it’s worth it. Is it worth the work and the pain and constant setbacks? And the answer is again, I don’t know. I wish I did.

However, don’t misunderstand me. This is not a post of defeat or that I’m giving up. Because I have felt liberation. Each time, that feeling lasts just a little bit longer than it did before. And I don’t believe liberation is some perfect utopia feeling. It doesn’t mean I won’t feel sad or hurt. It doesn’t mean I won’t have trials. It means that I will be me. I’ll not just be seen but want to be seen. The mask I wear won’t be a permanent fixture on my face but one I only bring out for truly horrible dinner parties. I won’t be a prisoner.