I get the best writing done when I’m on my period. My uterus just seems to shed the emotions right out of my vagina and onto the page.
You’re some crazy bitches. But thanks for clearing my writer’s block.
When all is right in the world, I start to question if I might be over medicated. Maybe this is what happy and balanced feels like, and I’m not so different from a ‘normal’ person. But inevitably, when I least expect it, out comes Adele’s voice to flip the breakdown-mode switch to “on.” Like routine, tears roll down my cheekbones, and in an instant, the past has merged into the present, and everything is not ok. I know the feeling is temporary, but the trigger has been pulled, and each prior episode of sadness and anger from all years past has been pressurized into a single bullet now lodged in the center of my chest.
There's something so satisfying about being sad for someone who’s been depressed for half their life. It's a familiar, comfortable emotion. Sadness is that old friend I don't see often, but when I do, it's as if no time has passed. Nothing feels more real and exhilarating than connecting with my long-time partner. I love to lose myself in our dark dance, and let melancholy wash away my self control.
I used to let her stay as long as she pleased -- days, months, years -- well past her welcome. I didn't know how to say goodbye, how to put my foot down and shove her out the door. As I gained more positive influences in my life, I realized that although I wanted her, I didn't need her. I was addicted to her presence, and the way she could make me tiptoe on the edge of life and death. Since then, I’ve realized I’d rather not walk that tightrope. My energy and passion are better directed elsewhere. Ironically, writing about my relationship with sadness has become a healthier outlet for me, although revisiting the memories can be painful. Nothing invalidates our past, and she has made me the person I am today, but there is no place for her in my present nor in my future. I keep her at bay with daily antidepressants, positive affirmations, yoga, and a regimented self-care routine. I can never again allow her past the threshold of my soul.