hi hi hi. so last time i wrote that i was feeling hella depressed. i don’t think i would have said anything about it without all the coverage of robin williams death. i felt like i had to blurt out some shit. felt like i had to say ‘hey, i’m feeling a certain type of way’. i also felt some type of responsibility towards other people who might have the sads, who might be queer and alone.
so i wrote some shit. put the feelings out on the blog. made myself vulnerable even though i know that there are people who are reading my words and are clapping with joy over the thought of me being depressed. i said fuck that, fuck them, let’s put the feelings out.
but the more i think about it, the more it felt a little hollow, or maybe under cooked?
like one post doesn’t take the sad away.
one trip to a therapist doesn’t lift the cloud of restlessness and alleviate the inability to focus.
it doesn’t take away the wanting to die.
it sure as hell doesn’t immediately provide meaning to meaninglessness.
it is only a start. that’s it. just a half step forward into a small spot of sunshine.
i wanted to make sure that i wrote that, that i added to this, finished what i started.
this whole seeing a therapist thing and going and “getting help” is just one part of healing. also, it’s an emotional luxury in a sense. like thank the universe that i felt strong enough to make several phone calls, send out random emails, and talk to strangers about my needs. how did i find the strength to do that? i’ve got a good support network. but i still tried to keep most of it to myself. i’m thankful that the fear of slipping over the edge was enough to pull me back. some people don’t have that luxury and it doesn’t make them weak. not even for a second.
weak is ok too. i am weak. i am tired. my body fits into couches and beds and under blankets too well. it is too easy for me to sleep/eat/tv the pain away. it’s too easy for me to shut off and pretend like the days don’t matter. it is too easy for me to fall away from myself. so yes, i ran to the phone and made calls. but what if i didn’t? there are people out there who can’t. i think about them every time i go to therapy, every time i go for a walk or make a banging ass dinner for me and my lady.
i pray they are ok.
i’ve had a few sessions already. i feel a bit clearer in my head. i’ve been told i’m not clinically depressed. i’ve been told i’m a strong ass vibrant motherfucker. homeslice therapist told me that i’ve been hit with some not-normal and totally not ok circumstances and that the symptoms of depression i’m being bombarded with are my body’s way of taking care of my soul and my heart. so like i can get down with that. i want to work with my body and its self-preservation mechanisms to take care of myself. cuz no one is going to take care of me if i’m not putting in the work, least not in a healthy way.
i’ve had some beautiful queers reach out to me via email and tumblr and twitter and thank me for writing about this. all the thanks yous have been anonymous. the emails have been shrouded in vague language. thanking me for being brave and talking about uncomfortable shit. but like no one puts what is really happening. i can’t even do that. that’s ok too.
all i can write about is what’s happening in my head. i can’t use names or list specific details. it’s not cuz i’m afraid of backlash. i’m not afraid of anything. but what i’ve noticed is that reactionary words and storytelling and immediate responses are for the most part all bullshit. i’m the type that needs time to think things over and pull myself out and away from situations to truly understand what has happened and how i can make sure that it doesn’t happen again.
taking care of my mental health is the best way to do that. i can experience rage/sadness/shock. think it over. talk to someone who isn’t connected to anyone or anything but me. i can talk to someone who won’t absorb my life. i can talk to someone who is just focused on me and my needs, not their cell phone or their feedly. it’s fucking incredible.
and then, then i can figure out what i need to figure out on my own. i can take a mad long walk and deep breaths and understand what i need to do to navigate difficult situations. i can figure out the best ways to cut negative energy and eliminate brutal people from my life.
this depression sways and rolls. i’m not laying under a cloud of death 24/7. again, that’s something else i do not in any way take for granted.
i’m social. i’ve been going to the beach, going to shows, moving and playing and running around with beautiful people.
i am writing every single day and reading all the books.
i’m living. hard. living. well. living for myself and for the life i want to build with the world’s most lovely human.
there isn’t any one way to navigate survival. but i do know that if i started avoiding my issues, denying that anything is wrong, and absolving myself of culpability for my actions, then i’d just drown. this is a difficult, beautiful, delicate, and totally worthwhile journey.
i am a miracle. i am working every single day to keep on shooting into the night sky and lighting up the galaxy.
ppps- once again, if you’re a depressed and uninsured new yorker, click here for a list of resources available to you.