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That’s that me, Depresso – Semi-Serious Reflections on the State of my Mental Health
I could say a lot about my history with depression and anxiety. I HAVE said a lot about my history with depression and anxiety–they are inexplicably a part of me, after all. I used to analyze it all in depth, chronicling the recovery highs and lows, wondering if I was getting better at all. There was a time when I thought I was better, and I was so sure. I considered depression something I had, past-tense, and that, at that point in my life, I was just occasionally experiencing depressive episodes. Of course, I was naive (and a measly twenty-one), and I didn’t know all the tumultuous emotions I would…
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Pan(dem)ic! at the Disco: Covid Summer 2.0 (an update on my headspace)
Well, well, well, would you look at that, LA County. Reimplementing your mask mandate already? Almost like we shouldn’t have opened up our doors so widely so soon. Here we are, pandemic summer part 2. Not sure how long this go-around will last, but I don’t really mind locking down again. I know so many people who, even vaccinated, are still at risk, and I really like staying home with my TV and my streaming accounts. Especially if it’s going to do a little good for other people. It took me quite a bit of time for the magnitude of constant staying home to hit me. Not because I don’t…
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The Evil Jean Shorts
TW: eating disorder She couldn’t see them. She’d buried them at the bottom of her drawer for a reason. At first because winter had fallen, and she no longer needed them. But now, they just laughed at her. They were once her best friend, through and through, these jean shorts. When every other article of clothing snickered behind her back or threatened their seams, they stood by her. Hugged her in the worst of times. But then last summer came, and she found out that they’d turned on her too. It couldn’t have been that bad of a winter, could it? What had she done to make her trusty favorite…
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Brb My Brain is in the Shitter
TW: depression, anxiety, eating disorder I’ve been a little bit glossy about this, but I want to be straight up about things: I’ve been battling/struggling/surviving depression for about fifteen years now. Not properly diagnosed or anything, but um, I’m pretty freaking sure. I’m well aware that I’m not alone in this, especially right now. And while I’ve been reasonably creative during the Q, having written at 65K-word novel for NaNoWriMo, read 52 books, baked several new desserts, etc, that’s not to say that I haven’t been wildly and relatably ~not okay~. And it’s even harder during the holidays, when everything is supposed to be cheery and warm and happy. Quite…
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The Purge: Cleansing Old Wounds
Look, I’ll be straightforward here: I just put a little more than half the songs I wrote in middle school in the recycling, and I’m heartbroken. Songs and lyrics that, while not great or profound, I cherished so deeply all these years. Therapeutic diary entries about old crushes, friendships, and depression…all my feelings and thoughts boiled into three-ish verses and a chorus. So why am I tossing them? This morning, I sat down and read through them all, the melodies archived in my brain and the memories deeply rooted in who I became. I look over them whenever I move, to remind myself that I want to keep them, and…