It’s tough and it’s tiring when you go it alone
I learned about wiring, I learned about stone
The building is done but the work’s never through
And I won’t give up, no how, it reminds me of who I am and where I am now
I remember myself, that’s the work that I do – Dar Williams, This is Not the House That Pain Built
The last few years have been a long-distance marathon away from a pick-your-poison selection of darknesses. The state of being me felt unrelenting and impossible to bear — In my mind, I was not running towards anything better, I was just running away. I was plumb out of fight, so all that was left was a panicked flight to keep the shadows behind me — hard to do when you’re not necessarily setting the sun as your destination.
Yesterday was the first day of Spring.
Today is the anniversary of the last time I saw my dad fully alive.
Water metaphors always work well for depression.
Imagine that you’re drowning. You’re face down in murky water with no idea how deep you have gotten. Occasionally, you might float to the surface but it won’t matter, you’ll drown with your back in fresh air and you’ll never even know.
Depressed person: “I feel like shit. My house is a mess and everything is horrible.”
Caring individual: “But look at all these great things you are managing to do!”
I love it when people imply that medication is the easy way out of mental health struggles.
First, if that were true, sign me up. I think I’ve put in enough effort in the last three decades to earn a magic pill, no? Certainly, as I approach my five-year therapaversary, I have put in enough hours sitting on my therapist’s couch to deserve the occasional easy solution.
Every time I start to write this, I let out a huge, deep, involuntary sigh.
Then I sit here for a while, unsure where to start.