For the past year (or more), I've been feeling the weight of reality. The result of this is that my previously exultant view of life became nonexistent. My belief that I could accomplish anything (because I'm magic, of course), faded as I recognized the enormity of my life and my inability to alleviate the stress of it. Within a few months I became incredibly, undeniably, mortal.
There are advantages to being mortal. It allows one to admit failure, and weakness, and makes allowances for one to stop trying. After all, the human body can only withstand so much before it collapses. The human spirit sometimes follows suit...
I have mentioned how, in recent months, there have been days when I was desperately unhappy, when I felt I could not manage one more moment with my life in its current state. I've talked about how even taking a shower or getting dressed in the morning felt too difficult. I've mentioned that each night I was giving thanks just because I had made it through one more trying, agonizing day.
I did not know, until Tabitha was placed in a managed care facility, how worn down I was. In fact, I had become emotionally ill--to the point that life felt beyond my ability to live it. I was completely exhausted, emotionally depleted, physically weak, and hopeless. I was unaware that I had become so. I was simply going through the motions of life.
I lost a job--one I wanted to keep. I knew it was going to happen. I had not the strength to continue in my current state while meeting the expectations of the job. I watched as my performance slipped lower weekly. When I was notified that my contract would not be renewed, my only response was to apologize and acknowledge the need to terminate my services. I sent a very brief explanation of what was happening in my life, thanked my supervisor for the privilege of working for the company for two and a half years, and accepted the decision. To my surprise, after my termination was final, I received a personal email from that supervisor. She told me she was very sorry I would no longer be working for them, and said she appreciated my professional and graceful response to the situation. Then she thanked me for my service.
I've never lost a job before. Since that day, I've felt unable to seek work. That didn't stop me, of course. The day my contract was terminated, I contacted people who have known me for years, who know my music background, and I procured a couple of part-time jobs accompanying at the university. The pay rate is very high, but the hours are short. Darrin said I needed something like that. Then he told me how worried he's been about me--too many work hours, too much Tabitha stress. He said he felt that I've been slipping away.
I dismissed his worries, saying I was fine.
Last week I began to be Samantha again, and in the process I recognized that Darrin (and every other person who has expressed concern) was right. I wasn't fine. I was slipping away.
Today, for the first time in more than a year, I found myself dreaming about my future. I thought of things I want to do, not with wistfulness because I knew they could not happen, but with the omnipotent certainty I've felt most of my life. I forgot for a moment, that I'm not twenty, I'm probably a little old to compete in the 2014 Winter Olympics, and I might not be able to pass the physical test necessary for me to become a firefighter--yet.
My parents have a crabapple tree in their yard. The springtime blossoms are bright pink. This time of year tiny red crabapples cover the branches and the leaves begin to turn the same color. Last week I noticed that amid the autumn leaves and fruit, some very confused branches were pink with unseasonal blossoms. The larger than normal flowers bloomed right beside the apples--the scented mixture of ripe fruit and pink blossoms was beautiful. I need to take a picture. If I remember to do so, I'll post it here.
I feel a bit like that tree, coming unexpectedly alive with blossoms. The frost will soon nip the crabapple blossoms, turning them brown before they fall to the grass, but I have become impervious to the lifefrost that might try to stop me from returning to my natural state.
I am Samantha, and I am magic, and my life is incredibly beautiful.