Silence.


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Silence.


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I always thought that depres­sion and intro­spec­tion were sup­posed to fade with spring, not increase.

Then again, maybe there’s not real­ly a time­line for such things at all.

There is so much I want to say. So much I want to talk about, share, unload from the heav­i­ness of my heart and dredge up from the murk­i­ness of the swirling waters of thoughts in my head. There are peo­ple who have con­tact­ed me that I want to respond to.

But all I can real­ly muster is silence.

Silence, because I’m so wea­ried by the demands, assump­tions, and judg­ment of peo­ple who think that acquain­tance­ship gives them the right to speak igno­rance into my life.

Silence, because I’m so over­whelmed by the peo­ple who have offered their sto­ries in sol­i­dar­i­ty with mine, who have in essence lain down in this ditch with me and said, “I may not under­stand, but let me encour­age you,” because I don’t know how to say thank you when say­ing “thank you” isn’t near­ly enough to express what’s in my heart.

Silence, because I’m try­ing to focus on the good until I’m strong enough to face the not good again.

So I have noth­ing real­ly pro­found to say. I con­tin­ue to read, lis­ten, ana­lyze, and work out things in my life. But right now, that most­ly looks like tak­ing Sher­lock to the dog park. Or wear­ing a skirt in pub­lic for a few hours. Or hol­ing up in my base­ment play­ing Twi­light Princess or marathon­ing Buffy the Vam­pire Slay­er.

I’m deep in self-care mode, try­ing to keep my head above water, so deeply lost inside my own head that I’m not com­fort­able com­ing out of it right now.

But I will. Soon. I can feel the thoughts orga­niz­ing them­selves into words. I can feel the words form­ing, the desire to write and inter­act and social­ize is com­ing.

But for now, I have silence. And it is good.

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