I always thought that depression and introspection were supposed to fade with spring, not increase.
Then again, maybe there’s not really a timeline for such things at all.
There is so much I want to say. So much I want to talk about, share, unload from the heaviness of my heart and dredge up from the murkiness of the swirling waters of thoughts in my head. There are people who have contacted me that I want to respond to.
But all I can really muster is silence.
Silence, because I’m so wearied by the demands, assumptions, and judgment of people who think that acquaintanceship gives them the right to speak ignorance into my life.
Silence, because I’m so overwhelmed by the people who have offered their stories in solidarity with mine, who have in essence lain down in this ditch with me and said, “I may not understand, but let me encourage you,” because I don’t know how to say thank you when saying “thank you” isn’t nearly enough to express what’s in my heart.
Silence, because I’m trying to focus on the good until I’m strong enough to face the not good again.
So I have nothing really profound to say. I continue to read, listen, analyze, and work out things in my life. But right now, that mostly looks like taking Sherlock to the dog park. Or wearing a skirt in public for a few hours. Or holing up in my basement playing Twilight Princess or marathoning Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
I’m deep in self-care mode, trying to keep my head above water, so deeply lost inside my own head that I’m not comfortable coming out of it right now.
But I will. Soon. I can feel the thoughts organizing themselves into words. I can feel the words forming, the desire to write and interact and socialize is coming.
But for now, I have silence. And it is good.