Hitting rock bottom is a gift, though it certainly doesn't feel like it in the moment. I don't know that I've ever been able to make major changes in the way I live my life, until every bone in my body has known that I absolutely have no choice but to do so. Hitting rock bottom is the moment that one (ideally) starts climbing back up, which is actually pretty fucking empowering.
Hitting rock bottom tends to come as a total surprise to me. I didn't know that I was anywhere near the edge, and all of a sudden I'm free-falling. Looking back, the signs are always clear, and there were many events leading up to it. But usually when I'm already headed towards the edge a fog appears seemingly from out of nowhere, blinding me from the present moment--from reality.
My rock bottoms seem as low as they ever were, even now. But I'm sure they are not; it's just a matter of perspective: I've gotten used to being healthier. I certainly wouldn't change my rock bottom of now to my rock bottom of two years ago.
That shit was bleak!
I've said it before in this blog but I'll say it again: healing is not a straight line. It's a jagged-y zig-zag type of deal. If you look up real close the dips can seem pretty intense, but if you zoom out you see that the line actually does go up all the time. One has to keep in mind the big picture, even in the darkest of moments.
Fall seven times, stand up eight. ~Japanese Proverb