I made it up and out of the apartment, with clothes on and in time for the bus. I win at mornings.
Depression seeps into my peripheral vision and I suddenly can’t see anything in front of my face. I forget my chemistry is off. As of yesterday I started earning insurance, but I’ve been on clinic waiting lists since April. It’s done been old already. No wonder people kill themselves when getting help seems such an insurmountable task.
New Nathan talked about asking for help, and how no one likes to do that because it leaves you vulnerable. Steve said I thrive in help, love, and affection. Dean believes in my future happiness and clarity. Gotta absorb some messages.
Vanessa Mae used to escort me on the bus in Laguna. I wish I could ditch work for the Thousand Steps like I did the day program. But I’m awake, and I can’t sit at home with nothing but my head. Besides, if I go in, I’m closer to affording those bill things that pour into my mail slot.
I remember a time when I wasn’t constantly exhausted, when it wasn’t so much effort to keep food down and when crying at midday wasn’t a norm. I want to give my menstrual cycle some credit, but it may or may not be justifiable.
It gets better. I told women that for years at home. Now I tell my selves. It gets better. And so it does.
I have been spending hours trying to bridge communications with the person who knows me better than anyone else. Holding as much knowledge as I do about that man, you’d think I’d understand him better, but I don’t. Still, we pass the PofV and try again. We love each other. Better than the lasts, but not good enough for daily life.
I worry I’m unworthy of daily love. I have testimonials of the opposite, but I need my own vote to get off the sinking ship.
Once, in second grade, I ran for Vice President of the class. I voted for the other candidate the day of the election, because she said she’d vote for me if I voted for her. She won. Then there was the whole leadership camp lifeboat thing, only to cradle my own self destruction. I get so stubborn, and I behave as if squeezing my eyes shut just a bit tighter might make the world fade away.
Then I feel the depression sit down on my chest, my gasps come out as wheezes and I explore breath play. Negotiations should have taken place before imbalance made me her bitch.
But truths remain, and I am grateful for the potential tenderness and questions. New Nathan validated my pain, and I had to swallow hard to prevent losing my lunchtime cool. There are few places in the wide world to be real. This one is so brave. I used to be brave.
I am brave still, but it smaller ways. I must give myself credit for getting up and making it out. I wish I were taking on injustice and making differences like before, but what I do now will build a future of more. I really am too greedy to be satisfied with sadness forever. And I can’t do anything but write about darker options.
My words are being heard. I am starting to see feedback. I went all weekend without writing, and I think a friend of mine was right when he said I might not be able to stop writing. It caught in my throat over the busy days. Like Julia Cameron has indicated, on the busiest days, I need my pages the most.
My stop is next. I do feel better. I’m glad. More tired, but better. I can push through tired. I even started drinking sodas with caffeine.