When I was younger, I liked pretending to be busy. Without anyone teaching me, I understood that being unavailable meant you were needed. Important. Maybe even useful. And I loved being useful. I wrote to-do lists as long as my arm, pretending they meant success. I hated being lugged into other people’s plans, pretending I
Don’t tell Doc, but I wasn’t on my augmenter meds for a couple of weeks. I misplaced my set and didn’t have the money to replace it, so. Cue withdrawal and episodes. Being unhealthy feels like being stuck in a trap. You know you gotta get outta there, but you have to get out to
I was diagnosed with depression three months ago. It was straightforward, quick and unsurprising, like waking up slowly. I’d known for six years; the difference was now it would be official, and now I would start taking medication. My first-ever triggers were heartbreak and culture shock. Sailing in from a different country towards plain, grey
Creativity is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to face. …probably since it’s a perfect foil to perfectionism, an old, old BFF of mine. A creative life means accepting over and over that there is no right answer or perfect solution. Anything I ever come out with will always be a bit short, a bit incomplete, a
October 3, 2013 This is dedicated to past loves, especially that one that keeps coming back.