This is Me

A new friend, someone I’d only met once, briefly, in person, told me she wasn’t sure she’d recognize me, as my picture isn’t really a presence on my blog. No, I’m much more comfortable behind the camera.

But here I am. This is me.

This me the day after an inexplicably hard day. Emotionally hung over, I suppose.

Yesterday, I woke up sad. Morose. Dreading the day and already counting the hours until I could crawl back into bed, shut out the world, and just be. Even when I made it home and into bed, the weight of the day lingered into the early morning hours.

Why? Why yesterday?

Beats me. Sometimes it just happens that way.

So here I am today, scruffy and scraggly, a walking five o’clock shadow. I didn’t sleep long enough or well enough, but I’m here. I’m wearing one of my AFSP shirts and holding my ever-present tiny urn especially close, grasping for solace, but I’m vertical. I’m teaching and adulting and recovering. Again.

That’s the thing—I have to heal, have to recover, over and over again. Sunday was a fantastic, albeit emotional, day for several reasons. Sunday, I felt a few steps forward on this path. Wednesday, I felt like I did this time last year. Today, I’m clawing my way back down the path, inching forward.

I hate days like yesterday. They scare me and demoralize me. They make me question forward progress, but I just try again the next day, and the day after that, and . . . you get the picture.

So if you see scraggly Tonya, don’t worry too much. Some days, that’s just my face.