Wednesday, March 31, 2004

Today, my cat and I made spoons on the couch. I was in the pink flamingo position-- you know, there one leg is bent and the other is straight out, and she curled up right against my side and leg.

I was reading this book, Lucky by Alice Sebold, and I really didn't notice Furry Face was there until the warmth of her body against my thigh made me glance away from my book.

And she was deeply asleep, so that her little head was completely relaxed against my leg. My heart actually hurt in that moment, to see her there, so loving and so trusting of me.

I noticed this morning that I always seem to wake up more silent on days when it is rainy and overcast. Somehow, in my sleep, I know that there is not going to be any sunshine on days like these, and I am different when I wake up. I just don't want to talk- not even to myself, which I do so much I have actually had to catch myself a few times in public.

The difference is not like the way being depressed was. I hate the word 'depressed'- it is trivial and inconsequential. I struggle, even now, on the other side of it, to convey just how heavy I was with depression. Just how overwhelmed and lost, with only a fragment of my identity to hold on to. This is my name, this is my face, it is the same..

But it's not the same, really. I'm a different self now than before. And today is apparently Introspection Day Extraordinaire. Even I am a little shocked at all the self analysis.

But let me continue talking about myself--

There is an absence of something in me that I feel is as tangible and as real as if I had lost an arm or an ear or something. Its a sense that something is not here and I didn't know it was ever here until now, when it is gone.

When people say, you look good, you seem happy, I can actually agree, and not feel like I am giving a part of myself away in order to ease someone else's fear.

Of course, it makes sense to me now, when I am okay-er, that I was literally carrying around a weight and a presence the whole time.

Its probably why my posture got bad enough to make me drop my wrists, causing carpal fucking tunnel. The irony of walking around in splints for a shitty computer geek disease that makes me look like a flesh-toned RoboCop when I was almost broken in half carrying around the invisible rock of depression and doom for two years is not lost on me. I used to wish that I had cancer, just so people could recognize it in a meaningful way.

The real reason that I know that I am okay-ish (I mean, c'mon, I was weird before the depression, its not like that went away) is actually because I am not afraid of getting depressed again. Every time I started to feel better, before, I was out of my mind with fear, just waiting for the next one to come. But that dread just isn't here anymore. Its just me and the cat and a lot of anime.

A lot of anime. For serious.

However, anyone who wants to come over with a bean and cheese burrito and a one pound bag of m&m's is more that welcome.