Depression is a kicker, y’all.
This was the summer of not realizing how deeply, cripplingly depressed I was until I had started to recover and clean up the messes all around me. I knew I was in a pretty black place before the fire, and there was a lot of work and worry and exhaustion involved in moving into the temporary apartment, where I still am and am still feeling tremendously displaced and off-kilter. I dropped the ball on every single social commitment I made this summer, and am in the process of making amends.
I’m back in school for the fall, trying to keep my head above water there, trying to keep to my publication schedule, juggling new responsibilities and increased hours at work. And August is hard – today would have been John’s and my first anniversary – made harder by the fact that all of our friends are gathered together for the Labor Day holiday and I am not. It sucks, and it’s sad, and I’m tired, and mostly I just haven’t had time to think.
But not having time to think, going pretty on autopilot a lot, has actually given me the space to do some processing and forward movement and recovery, and now I feel like I’m just waking up, a little disoriented but ready to get back on my feet. And I realize some good things have happened while I was struggling, and some good things are coming, and despite my broken neurochemistry trying to convince me otherwise, I’m really generally pretty content with my life and excited about my future, and have a lot to say.