Sometimes it just aches, you know?
Depression.
I talk about it. I talk about it A LOT. Because we should.
I'm at work this week, after an amazing and long Christmas weekend. It was magical. I wouldn't change anything about it.
The house is back in order. I've removed the beautiful, but now-dead, tree from the corner of the living room and put my paintings back where they go.
There is something very cathartic about decorating for Christmas. Ritualistic almost. And having grown up in a religious home and then having later joined a sorority, it seems ritual has become really comforting to me in rough times. So the second the tree is in its stand, Mannheim Steamroller's Christmas album goes on Spotify and off I go.
But I also look forward to the fresh start that comes when Christmas is over. The return to a fresh, familiar space is equally as ritualistic for me. So last night I performed this ritual with an unprecedented meticulousness. I was on a mission.
Today I feel really low. I've been at work this week, but barely. My body has been sitting at my desk. My smile has been smiling. I'm crumbling on the inside. I can't tell you why, and that's how I know it's my depression. And since my limbs are all in place and on the outside, I look totally healthy, I'm really fighting to keep my head above water.
This year has been exhausting. It's been horrible for most of us. Everyone is ready to see it go, and I am right there with them. But a few good things have happened this year worth mentioning. I will try to focus on those things while the fog lifts.
In the meantime, here's to a better 2017 for us all-- after all, it's now up to us.