Bright Eyes

Feeling better goes like this:

I catch myself running up the steps at work instead of using the handrail to pull my dead weight along.  My eyes look brighter (but then again maybe that's the meds).  My brain works better to solve problems, and I feel like I might actually be worth something.  Or at least I could be.

I spend more than three minutes deciding what to wear in the morning.  I remember how blue my eyes look when I wear brown eyeliner.  I look down and remember I have cleavage.  The dresses come out of my closet, and I begin to wonder if maybe I could be pretty again.  My posture changes.  A whole day will go by before I realize I haven't had to take any of my anxiety meds.  Wolf Teeth fade to an unpleasant memory, and the packs of gum sit in my purse untouched.

When I go on Facebook, I accidentally click on my timeline and find myself scrolling through the years, reading posts that I made when the world was in my hands, and chuckling over comments Cory made.  I keep going backwards through the years, seeing Jake's face become rounder and babified, and Cory's illness grow smaller and smaller until it was hidden somewhere inside her, sleeping quietly.

I pull up all my photos, and stare for a long time at the one of her going to junior prom.  She looked...radiant.  I look at the one of her standing beside her biological father, and remember the magnitude of hope that she and I held for that little family to be realized...and to last.  I regret nothing.