In the dark.

I grew up in the dry air of the Rocky Mountains.  Summers there are hot, yet it is a dry heat, so even at 100 degrees, being outside is doable.  Unfortunately my current home of New Jersey is the exact opposite.  Here it is always so humid that even walking outside to go to the mailbox results in sweat dripping off of you like a Gatorade commercial gone wrong. So running for now has to be either really early in the morning or late in the evening when the sun is almost completely gone. (Don't worry, my husband has amply equipped me with reflector belts and portable pepper spray.)

Still, running at night is not something I do frequently.  I like to run in the light.  I like to see what is coming and where I am stepping. I like to look around and enjoy the beautiful scenery around me.  I like to run and feel the openness and freedom.  And most of all I like to be able to know where I am going and see my destination get closer and closer.  But sometimes in life with my illness, being in the light is not a possibility.  I have had to learn to run in the dark. 

This evening my mind seemed preoccupied with finding the patches of light. The streetlights glowed in front of every third house or so, or on every corner sending a circle of light downward spotlighting the black road underneath, and I felt as though I was running down an all too familiar path.

While a mild amount of research and a quick perusal through WebMD anyone can learn that depression is actually a group of symptoms which impact mood in a way that causes pain, despair, disability, and a reduced ability to function, if you were to run down this nighttime road with me, you would be able to see a small glimpse of what it feels like to live with depression.

Sometimes my life is best described as a dark road I need to travel.  It is a harsh reality that my journey through life is always going to involve darkness at times.  There are days of immense darkness and the only way I can get from sun up to sun down is by telling myself sometimes minutes at a time that if I just put one foot in front of the other soon it will be over. But, there are times filled with light too.  I am grateful that there are small patches of light urging me onward.  Grateful for days when my heart is full and happy and grateful.  Days when I can see who I really am and truly feel happiness and peace. 

Running in the darkness of my disease is something I have become accustomed to.  And thankfully since my diagnosis I have started to learn how I can actually enjoy the dark too.  Yet, I am just beginning to realize the joy of coming into the soft glow of the streetlights, if only for a few quick minutes, to bask in their warmth and safety before stepping into the dark unknown once more.
So though running in the dark is not what I want to do, I will keep running for my life because even the possibility of another patch of light up ahead is worth running to.