Mom’s Story: Metamorphasis Metaphors

Recently, as usual when I go to write, I’ve been feeling rather depressed…

I don’t think that’s a big shock about me anymore. Holly is diagnosed with depression and anxiety. She is prescribed daily medication. Sometimes she acts really weird and stand-off-ish. Occasionally suicidal.

It’s been difficult the past month with graduation, family-affairs, daily life. I get stuck wondering, well… how do I improve myself?

Usually in my worst days I always find myself calling Mom.

Mom and I never had a relationship in which people would call normal, but to me, it seems I’ve always been opposite of what people around me consider normal, so I wouldn’t have it any other way. So as much as the people in my life I have tried to make me believe this kind of relationship is wrong, fuck off, because this is what works in my case. Perhaps love really is felt best at a distance for some of us. And that’s okay.

Anyway.

I’d never thought what actually happens during metamorphosis inside the cocoon. I just left it at, a worm like creature wraps itself up and magically emerges as a butterfly. Mom told me today that a caterpillar goes through Hell inside that cocoon. I felt the best way to describe it, since I couldn’t find any revealing images, is that of a werewolf.

When a werewolf transforms, its whole body breaks. Each bone cracks and changes. The muscles change. The jaw elongates, the teeth, the eyes, spine, etc, etc. I remember thinking once that this is probably what makes a werewolf so angry in the first place.

A caterpillar must feel similar inside the cocoon. And my mom related it back to anxiety and depression. How we who deal with this “illness” lock ourselves away. Usually wrapped in bed. Dark rooms. Dark thoughts. We feel completely empty and lost inside.

So the caterpillar becomes the same way. As it wraps itself up in it’s own darkness.. it destroys itself. And emerges as something totally new. It’s been simple enough for me to notice that every time I make it through an episode of depression to know that each time it passes I am able to feel a new sense of hope and determination. But it always begins to feel like an endless cycle. That no matter how much I think I grew, it’s never enough.

So my challenge is to be okay with that. Because the day I stop growing should be the day that I die. I should always be happy and willing to change. My improvements may be more dramatic than others, but it is my way. Just as a chick, foal, larvae, all grow differently, so do we. So as many times as I lock myself away and kill myself inside, I hope that I can always emerge as something more beautiful each time.

So as I usually say; I want to become stronger. So I’ll continue trying.

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