Adaptation

I feel like things are falling into place. My eyes are open to new experiences, my heart is open to deeper, more robust relationships with the people around me. Like the flowers on my kitchen table, opening their petals day by day, I'm opening to the world. My essence is porous, letting my surroundings become a part of me. I'm the most authentic version of myself that I've ever been. I am content.

My recovery has changed me. I believe for the better. For a week, I was spoon fed by my mom because I was too week to lift a fork. For a month, my dad had to spot me every morning when I came downstairs to have the oatmeal and fruit he'd made us for breakfast. I didn't have a choice but to let people in. Doing it all by myself, never asking for help - what I'd always thought "independence" meant - wasn't an option. So I adapted.

Life is funny. When I was in a bad place, stressed, over-worked and under-slept, my body took up arms. It was my epilepsy which, when aggravated by my job and my life, convinced me to find an escape - like they say, it had to get worse before it could get better. It definitely got worse, but now, here, it's so much better than I could've asked for.