Autobiography · Mental Health · Relationships · Writing

On and On

My mood goes in and out like the tide. Eroding me even when things are good. Emotions in general exhaust me and I try to spend more and more time avoiding being alone. Don’t feel it. Whatever it is. Don’t.

In the middle of the night I put out a plea on Facebook for someone to take a walk with me. A friend I don’t know well takes me up on it and we trudge around The Hill and talk about nothing of consequence. Life is simple, beautiful, goes on.

Days later we get back the light. The perfectly cloud-dispersed echo of sunshine. It shone off V’s face, danced in his eyes as Andrew drove us south. Hands out the windows the three of us took deep breaths at the sight of our mountain. A reminder that life is simple, beautiful, goes on.

Back at their apartment V leans over the stove. Stirring and inhaling deep. I like to watch him cook. It feels like a metaphor for what we are all doing here. Making something new. And we all sit down at the table and eat the dinner we prepared together. We’re building something. Learning to trust it.

Andrew asks me if I have a blog post geared up for Tuesday and I shake my head. V tells me he doesn’t know how much it matters what he thinks, but that my writing is “really good”. It’s just the kind of nudging I need to not give up on me. So I sit down and write this while Andrew draws and V finds music to play us.

So I think maybe life goes on. Maybe we keep building even when we think we’re not trying. Even when we don’t think we can. Life comes at you. On the express lane when the light is perfect and the windows are down. Hands at two and ten. Our lives in Andrew’s possesion without even considering it.

We already trust. Let’s build.

Photo courtesy of Charlie Harutaka.

Personal Development

True Grit

 "winter frost" © Gail Fisher, 2010. CC BY 2.0.
winter frost” © Gail Fisher, 2010. CC BY 2.0.

For four days I did the same thing over and over out of necessity. I slept in and then stayed curled up in bed. On occasion I would transfer to the couch and fall asleep again. I’m always astounded by how quick I become used to being sick. It becomes my normal, my routine. I get entrenched in the monotony and forget it hasn’t always been like this.

I start to wonder if I’m still sick or if I’ve just gotten used to doing next to nothing. It takes less than a week to adapt to feeling powerless, but every ounce of self-discipline you can muster to get your power back again. Continue reading →

Addiction

Glass

"Dark Skies" © Fraser Mummery, 2011. CC BY 2.0.
Dark Skies” © Fraser Mummery, 2011. CC BY 2.0.
It used to be leaping from my chair and, in one grand swoop, clearing my desk of everything. A smashed computer screen, pens, paper, and a couple half-full glasses of water littering the floor. “Look at me!” I wondered how you didn’t notice. “Please, just look at me.”

Now my posture tightens. Teeth clench. I don’t break eye contact and I steady my breath. In a moment indiscernible from the next the glass I’m holding is crushed in my hand. Fragments embed in the folds of my skin, sparkling water and a lime wedge. I don’t flinch, just cock my head. “You were saying…” Continue reading →