My first year in Victoria, I thought it was just that I was new. Everything was new and I was building a new life... it takes time. It takes energy. What I was feeling was normal, right? November's rain came and I cried over photos of Montreal in the snow and then booked a trip for reading break. That would make me feel better, right?

Then last year, November came and the rains started in earnest. I admitted that I was near a breaking point... The stress was almost more than I could handle but I blamed the fact that I wasn't at the gym often enough, that I had quit taking my vitamins to save money... I blamed the fact that I was finally changing churches and that my thesis had hit a break wall. What I was feeling was normal, right? Then someone special blessed me with a gift of a plane ticket to Edmonton to see My Square. It was like a break to breathe... to be with people who really knew me without explanation. That would make me feel better, right?

Those things *did* make me feel better. A bit. It was enough to give me a chance to "reset" enough to make it through. Each time, just enough to make it through.

This fall, I decided that I would do "everything right." I made sure there was good food in the house right away. I became militant with my gym time. I ate supper at the same time (nearly) every evening and had oatmeal for breakfast every morning. I scheduled breaks when I could. I started using my study carrel at the library in an attempt to focus on my studies. I took my vitamins again.

And I was exhausted.

My mom would make little comments like "Are you sure you still want to do this? You don't seem like you're enjoy it anymore..." I would sleep through my alarm... want to eat nothing but bread and cheese... and want to cry an awful lot. Things were ok when I was around people, but I couldn't focus on my work. I didn't apply for a big source of funding for my PhD studies and I really didn't know how I'd get through my PhD applications, let alone finish my thesis this spring. When I couldn't work (which was all the time) I'd beat myself up for it.

I had it all together. I was doing everything "right." School's been good, my friends are great, and church is a blessing.
I am happy. I was happy.
But I still felt like the ceiling was pressing in on me... still felt like I needed to cry every second day... still just wanted to sleep all the time...

Two weekends ago I had a break down on the phone with my mom. It wasn't a "planned breakdown" - I had simply called home to touch base on Sunday afternoon and instead, I completely fell apart. I said that I was tired of feeling hollow. Tired of feeling dark. Tired of feeling that way. So, two weeks ago, I marched myself down to a walk in clinic and announced "I think I have SAD [Seasonal Affective Disorder] and I need help."

I should have done this two years ago.

I now have a special light and some "happy pills" and I simply cannot believe the difference.
I feel like myself again. I can work hard and play hard again. I can discuss ideas with my supervisor and I'm doing as much in a day as I had been getting done in a week. And at a better quality. I enjoy the sound of rain again. And I can lie in bed on a lazy morning like this morning and read a book again. I had even lost that. I find myself humming to myself as a putz around the kitchen and I'm laughing harder. People tell me "I'm sorry" when they hear the news... but the truth is, the time for being sorry is over. The truth is, I want to shake them and say "CELEBRATE WITH ME! This is the part where I'm getting better - this is the HAPPY PART!"

Every now and then my mom gets sappy about the fact that I really am on my own. She tells me that she knows I can take care of myself and that I'm capable and strong and beautiful. But then she looks at my siblings and sighs with the content of knowing that wherever Amanda goes, Jason has her best interest at heart. Sounds similar to how a parent feels when their children travel: it's always nice to know when they're with a friend - even if it's just to have someone there with a hug or to speak the same language when you need it.

"I know you can take care of yourself," she says, "but it would be nice to know that someone else was too."

The truth, of course, is that I can and I can't. And that's where my friends come in. I assure her that I have amazing friends, and that even though I haven't actually attended the same church for more than 13 months (including being gone in the summers!), I have a church body that loves me. I tell her that I'm lucky. That I have friends that will fight for me.

Prairie, when you first told me that you knew exactly what I meant when I said the ceiling was crushing in on me, I felt guilty at first. I didn't realize that it had been that hard for you. I knew it was hard, but I didn't know the exact spot you were in. But then I realized, I didn't have to know that the dark was bringing on the crazies so much as I needed to know how much you missed [Mr. Prairie] and how hard it was that he had gone back to being the boy in your computer screen. You didn't need me to buy you candles, 'cause you had someone finding you the biggest candle he could find.

But you in your I've-been-there-I-knowness and you're new found I'm-in-love-sappiness, knew that I needed candles more than I knew I did. You knew that I could go buy some myself (I did, and it's hilariously freaky how similar the two sets of candles are) but you knew that I needed someone to take care of me. The symbolic candles. That's what made me cry. It wasn't that Gutenberg was being temperamental, though that was frustrating, and it wasn't that I am a Sherk and a Stefan or that I was overtired, though we know that helped. It was because I realized how right I am when I tell my mom that I have someone -lots of someones- who DO take care of me on a regular basis. You guys sent the candles. Ela has been an on-line-cheerleader-extraordinaire, reminding me not only to breathe but also that I should "tell to Jesus" in addition to rallying my prayer troops when I needed it. Nick is distraught that I had to quit dance. Wen talked me into taking Vitamin D before committing myself. Trevor gave me an early morning wakeup call the morning of the due date when I simply could not stay up later to finish it. I am so blessed.

So, that's what the candles symbolize. I have friends who love me enough that they help me to take care of myself - even when they're far enough away that they have to find creative ways to do it.

So, now I have my own "witching-hour", only my soul is too liturgical to really call it that. The smell of pure, unscented (you're amazing, by the way) candles is intoxicating to me. It brings me to church. It calls me to prayer. I can't help but hear the benediction every time and it puts me at peace.

The Lord bless you, and keep you;
The Lord make His face shine on you,
And be gracious to you;
The Lord lift up His countenance upon you,
And give you peace.

Life has been too busy lately - so busy that it's been a little lacking on the life part.  There hasn't been much time for anything but school.

And reading blogs.  It's the one mini-break that I'll let myself have when I'm chained to my computer, trying to write.  (Unless I've disabled my internet, but that's another story.)  That and making tea, but that doesn't count. 

Tonight I read a gem. 


It's from the FAQ section of this and was quoted by a friend-of-a-friend here, which I only saw because I linked on to her page from Ashley's blog.  I only share the cyber-chain because it's so random and it brought me to something so randomly beautiful. 

I don't think I need to explain the why and how this resonates with me.  :o)  I love art for art's sake.  And spontaneity. 


And funny pants.

I find it hard to believe that most people don't talk to themselves when other aren't around.  Is this seriously the case?   Even people who live alone?



Um, yes, to answer your question: It's been a while.  I haven't seen anyone in person since church Sunday morning.   . . . maybe it's a good thing I have a lesson tomorrow morning?