REVIVAL

By: Angie A. 

It’s been raining for three months

I’m not talking about a welcomed shower on a hot summer day

Not the Sunday morning rain that demands reading by the window

I mean the kind of rain that catches you off guard with no umbrella

When the forecast says to expect a drizzle, but in comes a severe thunderstorm

You resist as long as you can

If you can shield yourself with your hands, maybe part of you will stay dry

Maybe you’ll be okay

If you run as fast as your legs will carry you, until you’re breathless and aching and your lungs are on fire, maybe you’ll reach shelter before it’s too late

But the struggle proves futile

The rain quickly soaks your clothes, chills you to the bone

There is no place to seek refuge

It’s the kind of rain people will remember for as long as they live

The new reference point to which all subsequent weather events are compared

“Board up the house. Stockpile supplies. We don’t want a repeat of The Storm of Summer 2026.”

I’m talking about the kind of rain that brings destruction

Roofs torn off, shutters blown away, power lines down, death toll rising

And when you can’t imagine things getting any worse, the ground begins to collapse

A sinkhole caused by weakened soil; a foundation not strong enough to withstand the storm

It rained and it rained and it rained it rained

And meteorologists said it would let up, but it never did

It stopped for a few minutes, then resumed

It stopped for a few hours, and rejoicing ensued, then it came down harder than before

The forecasters said, “Hang in there. The storm has almost passed. Things seem to be clearing up. But… you have to step outside.”

When you looked outside, you saw nothing but rain and darkness and wreckage

What do they mean step outside? That’s a suicide mission

But the house in which you sought shelter was being swallowed up

It’s not safe inside either

With one last act of desperation, you released the frame you’d been clinging to, closed your eyes, and took the step

You wanted to trust the experts more than anything, but you did not expect to survive

You just decided that if you were going to succumb regardless, is it not better to go out braving the storm than being consumed by the earth?

As the rain shocked your senses, you realized you were still alive

Drenched, hurting, unable to see

Lost, despondent, unable to breathe

But alive

And as that realization dawned, the rain let up just slightly

And you thought you saw a bit of sun – not fully emerging from behind the clouds, but wanting to

I can’t promise there will be a rainbow after this

I can’t promise fields of flowers that will leave you breathless, in awe of nature’s resilience, and grateful for the rain

I can’t promise the rain will never return

It most likely will

But I hope it never returns with such force

And I hope you know you are strong enough to survive again if it does

This morning, I looked outside and saw a sapling

One tiny stem daring to emerge

Daring to face the world

I hope it thrives

ABOUT ANGIE: I am 32-years-old, and I've struggled with anorexia nervosa since I was 11. Over the past 20 years, I have been in eating disorder treatment centers more times than I can count, but I've always relapsed shortly after discharging. Over time, I think it's become a self-fulfilling prophecy in which I feel like I'm never going to recover, so I don't fully commit to therapeutic recommendations (often times fighting them every step of the way), and then when I continue to struggle with things, I take is as supporting evidence that I'm destined to have an eating disorder forever. A little over 4 months ago, I made the decision to go back to treatment. I didn't expect to "recover", but I hoped to medically stabilize enough to get back to my baseline of "struggling but in a somewhat manageable way". However, I had the best treatment team I've ever had in my life; they believed in me even when I didn't believe in myself, and they never gave up on me. Because of their faith in me, I decided to fully commit to getting better, even when it was hard, to see if it actually made a difference (I figured I didn't have much less to lose since I already felt hopeless). I was terrified of stopping the disordered behaviors, terrified of my body changing, and terrified that I wouldn't be able to cope with the distress of it all. And for a while, it really seemed like I wouldn't be able to survive - as I started eating more and my physical health improved, I became increasingly depressed and questioned whether I even wanted to be alive if my choices were to deal with the misery of having an eating disorder or the misery of trying to recover from one. But every single day, my therapist assured me that things would get better, that she was proud of me, and that I wouldn't have to face things alone. I can't say exactly when things started to get better, and I'm definitely not out of the woods yet (I am still in treatment a few days each week), but I feel like I made it through the worst of the storm. I am hopeful about recovery for the first time in my life, I'm grateful to be alive, but more than anything, I am so thankful for my treatment team who believed in me and saw me at my worst but never gave up on me. I haven't written a poem since I was a teenager, but out of seemingly nowhere, I felt compelled to write this one. I didn't really have a plan going into it, but it took shape along the way. I hope this poem conveys the reality of battling mental illness, but also the hope that maybe things will actually be okay.

I should also mention that I work as a university professor, and in "real life", I feel like I constantly wear a mask and try to appear perfect all the time, which is exhausting and isolating. Sharing this poem with others feels vulnerable, but also freeing, authentic, and cathartic.

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