From Now On

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars.” - Kahlil Gibran

As I stared up the sky from the balcony of my childhood bedroom, the darkness filled me whole. The stars were a whispering reminder of everything I built, my life ready to be built up again. I had finally been released from the hospital, and while I still had so much healing and processing left, in that moment, everything was calm.

I had not been outside in days, and the fresh night air bristled my skin in the most beautiful way. I had walked around the backyard I grew up in, so grateful for my steps, for my life, for my freedom. Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.*

*A quote from my favorite author, Kurt Vonnegut, "Slaughterhouse Five"

I had sung Hashkivenu and Shelter Us with my parents in the cold night air, on the wet grass in the starry night. As I stood under the stars outside my bedroom, alone and at peace, I sang "From Now On", from the movie musical The Greatest Showman. The words had never felt so true.

I saw the sun begin to dim
And felt that winter wind
Blow cold
A man learns who is there for him
When the glitter fades and the walls won't hold
'Cause from then, rubble
One remains
Can only be what's true
If all was lost
Is more I gain
'Cause it led me back
To you

From now on
These eyes will not be blinded by the lights
From now on
What's waited till tomorrow starts tonight
Tonight
Let this promise in me start
Like an anthem in my heart
From now on
From now on

As I stood staring up at the stars, I thought of Arielle. We both loved the Greatest Showman, an objectively historically incorrect story empowering the least powerful. One of my favorite memories of her is singing along to the soundtrack together, driving around our college town, experiencing the world in all its musical glory.

Arielle was one of my best friends in college, and she passed away what will now be six years ago yesterday. She suffered with multiple chronic health problems that worsened with each year, and in 2019, it became all too much for her frail body. After months of hospitalization and treatments, she left this world far too soon.

When I was hospitalized-- albeit, for a different reason-- I wished so deeply she was there. I wish she was there to tell me I would make it out, to joke about the bleach baths she always wanted to take after the griminess of the hospital beds. I learned a therapeutic technique called "ghost letters", or "empty chair letters", a writing exercise for grief for all left unsaid. I still practice it on a regular basis.

Arielle's strength carried me through that time. The love she left in my heart gave me power. Her resilience reached me, even after she was gone.

I've never felt more at peace than that night-- the night I was released from the hospital after being put on a mental health hold. I had been dramatically detoxed, against my will, off of all the medications that kept me healthy and stable. I was living my life both raw and open hearted, with unprocessed trauma and a lifetime ahead to heal it.

It would still be months before I reached any level of stability. I had this fantastical notion that I would be cured now; I didn't need anti-depressants and anti-anxiety meds, I could just live my life now. Of course, this was nowhere near the truth. Today, I am on the same dosage of all the medications I was on before I was hospitalized, and I am beautifully stable. 

Now, if I fret about feeling broken, about how many store bought neurotransmitters I need to function, I remind myself of this. I was on those medications for a decade. I tried to go off of them, and it's clear to me now I need every single one. I must make good with that fact. Medication keeps me whole, it keeps me living. That is the most beautiful gift of all.

My trauma made me more whole. It has built my resilience, strengthened me more than I ever knew possible. I am a phoenix rising from the ashes, from now on and forevermore.