My brain is so angry
I sometimes shoot myself in the foot.
I don’t think people purposely injure themselves this way, unless they’re trying to get out of serving in war, perhaps.
I am on an anti-depressant that makes me feel like I can yank myself out of a spiral on good days, and kind of blah on the others.
On even worse days, like today, I don’t prioritize getting a refill until it’s much too late and my brain begins “zapping.”
When everything is in working order, when I’ve made time to exercise and read before work, everything goes smoothly. The “blah” gives way to more joy.
I don’t think I’ve been tried so hard to be happy. I wonder why no one told us it was this exhausting, this battle with my brain, this clawing, desperate attempt to feel even a bit of goodness.
When I think about leaving religion, I wonder if God filled in all of those holes for my mother. Did she still have those moments when she clawed? Or did praying keep her nails short, trimmed, and tucked in reverence.
Sometimes I miss the simplicity before trying to manage my depression: riding the waves of emotion, completely adrift and with no direction.
There’s a small amount of shame left over from god-knows-what about taking medication. Mostly it pops up when I get like this: buzzy and agitated. as if my reliance on it is a sign of weakness, when taking them is one of the first things I’ve done to take care myself.
I need to give myself a break
I’ve had some beautiful moments recently, and I’d like to capture them here.
My partner and I celebrated his birthday in part by going to an art gallery.
An art gallery that used to be a furniture store.
An art gallery with dirty, beige carpet, temporary gallery walls, peeling paints and fucked up ceilings.
An art gallery with carpeted stairs and white plastic lawn furniture.
An art gallery that had someone’s leather jacket hanging on a single nail, a smell that said the gallery attendants were allowed to smoke cigarettes inside, a cash bar, and crown moldings.
I had never seen a place more beautiful in my life.
Leaving, I said excitedly,
“I felt like I was in New York” my partner agreed. High praise, at least from me.
Yesterday, my dear friend came over and I cooked us dinner. Salad with grapefruit and goat cheese I remembered at the last minute.
For 3 hours, she and I updated each other on everything. We shared our anguish and shame of our anguish about the pandemic, our wishes for summer (more art making, picnics,)
My social stamina usually kicks out at about an hour. Two if I know you better, and 3 or more if you are dear to me. She and Moon girl can have my ear for the entire night.
Moon girl still ignites the gentleness in me. There is a calmness now that I settle into. I don’t ever want to be too far from where ever her heart is beating. It is better now and that more time has passed and we’ve been friends longer, I think, than lovers. It is better now in that I feel less and less afraid, and more and more grateful.
Anguish paints pictures but I don’t want art and poetry like that. At least not all the time. I wrote a poem about my friend and worried
She’s find it silly.
I am 32 and still just a kid.
I have so much growing to do and I finally have a home to do it from.