As a little girl, Peter Pan was one of my favorite musicals and tinkerbell was the star. I used to get so scared at the part where tinkerbell drank the poison for Peter and we all had to clap our hands to bring her back to life.
Later but still as a child, I played a kind of a faery, a wood nymph, in a play Dancing with almost pure joy across the stage in my ballet costume.
There was surely something magical about those times in my life. I long for them now.
As I sit here feeling stuck like Artax the horse in The Never Ending Story, sinking into the swamp, I can’t help but wish for some pixie dust to help me fly out of this mood, this place, this situation, this mental illness, this anything really.
I won’t say, “I don’t believe in f…” because the child in me won’t allow it, but I know that the responsibility for recovery from Bipolar Disorder, PTSD, ADHD, Anxiety, Insomnia, etc. all has to come from me. I can get help from other people, but at the end of the day, it’s on me to put in the work and get things done.
Right now I feel so overwhelmed that everything seems impossible. I know it isn’t.
One moment at a time.
One breath at a time.
I make my own magic.
Image from Pixabay.