Inside my head, everything is changing. Like spring for a brain stuck in a perpetual winter.
My depression came back this winter (because it thinks it’s my best friend from way back, but it’s really just an intrusive asshole forever creeping at my psyche’s door like the Dementor in Harry Potter or maybe that death spirit who looked for the blood of the lamb on Israeli doorposts before smiting most of the first born sons of ancient Egypt. What a stalkery, judgmental, passive aggressive prick of an angel, am I right? (And also, there’s a freaky amount of baby-killing in the Bible.) But all this only makes sense if you’re into Exodus, and mental illness, and off-beat metaphors). Anyway, I finally cried the celestial “uncle.” I am finally taking Wellbutrin, and for the first time, treating this like a boss. Taking fucking care of business, is what I mean, brain-chemistry-wise.
It’s been pretty intense. I feel so much. And I forgot how to feel so much, except for 50 distinct levels of sad, like the Eskimo word for snow. Now I feel the full spectrum of things. All of the things. Love and stress and frustration and anger and exhiliaration. At probably the most intense time—professionally and personally and financially—in my so far pretty intense life.
No one talks about the sensory overload when the bell jar finally lifts. But spring cannot exist inside a bell jar.
So to spring, and to everything, I say: Fuck yeah. Bring it.
Brown and green silk taffeta jacket (unlabeled) that looks like bark and electric moss (gift) | Acid green silk scarf, ReStyle thrift store, $1 | Banana Republic cream lace camisole, ReStyle, $3 | Glass terrarium necklace with jasper, moss and lavender, Wintry Market, $40. | Leather and elastic brown belt, Idaho Youth Ranch, $2 | Trevira purple and blue skirt (gift) | BCBGeneration purple platforms, Macy’s, $40 (sale!)
Album of the Day: The Grateful Dead, “Wake of the Flood”