quiet afternoon

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Depression is really, really, unbelievably difficult sometimes. Especially as a student, when you’re away from family, you’re plugged into the same old schedule constantly and the piles of work are crushing you.

I had a rough week. But probably everyone had a rough week. That doesn’t make me that special or anything. I just wanted to publicly make a note that I am out of the slump yet again. I have no doubt that it’ll be back, but I crawled out of my own self-loathing and fear and am now happily enjoying a quiet Saturday with paints and Johnny Cash.

The really cool thing about depression, in my experience, is when I’m doing well I become so blissfully thankful for it that the good compounds upon itself and I am radiant. So for those days I fight, I strive forwards towards something “better”, an ultimate state of appreciation and love or whatever waits ahead.

People keep telling me to take joy in the little things. What else is there to take joy in? The big things are scary, unfathomable and far away. So yes, I am happy with these little things. My head is down, my hands are folded, and maybe something beautiful will come of all this. Not today, but someday. I am resigned to hope.

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springing

this sun

has to be a joke, it is

so drizzly wet outside and we are dashing

from buildings, breathing deeply

but trying not to ruin our hair

(let me say that the deepest joy

is from looking down and remembering that I am rooted in

boots I’ve had since I was eleven.)

joy.

For the first time in four years

i am happy.

Overflowingly, overwhelmingly

joyful – I can forgive everyone,

I am strong, unafraid.

This is huge. Unbelievably huge –

I didn’t believe that i could actually ever feel this again.

She asked me, “Aren’t you ready to be more than okay?”

and i really truly am.

spread eagled

a people addict choosing to be alone,

to work, pressing forward

schedules conflicting, rarely speaking.

hearing whispers of the most wonderful time spent with friends.

faith, don’t fail me now.

the excitement of knowing that you are out there

that you finally want to speak and listen

delights me silently

knowing that there is hope –

I have a chance. I really do.