It would be pretty easy to solely report on all the fabulous things I have been experiencing here. I am living in one of the most beautiful, tropical places ever. I am eating 80 % of my food from the land (other 20% is $14 peanut butter). I feel the most grounded and in touch with the Earth than ever. I am so beyond blessed to be here, immersed in this farm community. AND not but (more therapy terms:) AND – I want to honor and recognize the dark, and desperate place I was in that led to this paradise. It’s hard to talk about, as most people feel uncomfortable and awkward hearing about depression and darkness in general. But we’re not talking, you are victims of this internet corner of mine so you will most definitely hear about some dark shit because a lot of me (and everyone else I would argue) is dark! And I’m grateful for that.
While fully acknowledging how lucky, blessed and loved I am by so many beautiful people, back home I was struggling. More than struggling honey I was crawling through my days, just praying for them to be over. Everything felt empty. Everything besides reality TV, candy and weed. (I am happy to report that this has changed to looking forward to fresh kale salads, waking up early, dancing while weeding, and still smoking weed).
I watched my family, friends and coworkers navigate through jobs, social events, phones, and other very normal human practices with ease and all I knew to do was hate myself for not being strong enough to do the same. Not feeling connected to others sucks. Not feeling connected to yourself is torture. Like you exist in some separate void space, outside of your body and mind, alone and very lost (where else is there to go if not in your body?). I knew I had to make something happen. Anything. It was like one tiny string still tethered to my soul saying “caroline. You have to use any last shred of energy left to get yourself somewhere you can connect. Anywhere.”
Sometime on Sunday 