Masterminx

I knew it. This morning, when KJ left the house without saying goodbye or giving the slightest indication that he was going, I knew that my strange behavior had prompted his silence. When we first got up, late, I went directly to my work computer to check my calendar. He came over to rest his hand on my shoulder and asked if I had a lot of meetings today. I grumbled something in response. He asked if I was mad at him, and I said, "Kinda'."

That was enough to ruin his whole morning, and he didn't speak to me again. He was silent because he didn't know what he'd done wrong. I was silent because I couldn't think of what to say to recover.

So, he left and I started to cry. Crying that easily is not normal for anyone. I have been crying for three days, over one thing or another. I realized that I am depressed: all of the crying, the sullen emotional exhaustion, the thoughts of suicide--not real, motivated-to-harm sort of thoughts, just the "I want to make myself disappear" ones. I want the answer to life's greatest unanswered mystery. I miss my dad.

This all adds up to depression, which is a fucking rip-off because I didn't even get to enjoy the usually preceding burst of mania. I just got depressed. That blows. This depressed person is not me. This is not who I am.

Depression likes to feed on itself. It likes to wallow and perpetuate a sense of gloom. But I have called it out, now, by knowing it for what it is. I intend to fight it. I want to fight it, and I am weary of its slimy little grappling fingers around my ankle.

I've got the lights on and I'm about to make a jar of strawberry green tea. The sun is rising above the mountains. I don't have the time or inclination to put up with some dumb-ass chemical bullshit.