This week’s list of every day awards:

Monday

·         Didn’t full out cry

·         Went to ASL class

     Tuesday

·         Thought about skipping dance class but didn’t

·         Studied and didn’t fail and important Engl 292 test

Wednesday

·         Took care of myself by not going to the Frisbee game

·         GOT INTO A FREAKING STUDY ABROAD TO FREAKING LONDON

Thursday

·         Read for four hours

·         Brushed my teeth really well

Friday

·         Cleaned poop out of the pool.. twice

·         And didn’t kill the children who pooped

Saturday

·         Checked out at the grocery store even though I was pretty terrified/anxious

·         Made so many phone calls and office visits

Sunday

·         Made it to 9 am church on time-ish

·         Survived three different post-church meetings

Please remember to help me identify the little victories and know that I love you.

I'm terrified of putting too much hope in the idea that you could make my life meaningful for once

I don’t notice it until we’re in Tucano’s.

It’s been a pretty low key birthday—I hadn’t even seen my roommates or Grace until just before dinner. No one around me, in classes, on campus, knew of course. That also means I’ve been cooped up in my head all day.

Last night was the real celebration I guess. My sisters and Grace and Tangled cake. Several people made the same harmless comment that’s been running through my head all day today.

Congrats, you made it!

My first reaction is heck yeah I did. I’ve been to hell and back, fought suicidal thoughts more times than I can count, fought suicidal urges exactly three times.. the last being less than two weeks ago. But I’m still here. Two and a half years past when I originally would’ve been gone.

My second reaction comes in Tucano’s, halfway through dinner, surrounded by two of my dearest friends and incredible food and happy chatter.

And I don’t feel anything. The food doesn’t even taste good, I feel awfully disconnected, I can barely participate in the conversation.

Congrats, you made it!

I made it- past what? Years hazy with depression and shaking with anxiety. And made it to what? More of the same?

Congrats, you made it!

It is not a comforting thought. I made it to a limited life. Samantha keeps preaching that I need to accept mediocracy, accept the fact that I’m broken—and so is my life. Word for word, from my therapist.

Congrats, you made it!

I didn’t—don’t—want to.

Congrats, you made it!

Freaking fantastic.

Depression is a clingy and possessive friend

Depression settles in, to my bones, my skin, my mind, and I greet it like an old friend. It has played a mean trick—leaving me alone with anxiety for so long that I’m relieved at its return. The buzzing veins and shaking hands of anxiety are gone for the moment, but without all the heaviness and lethargy of anti-anxiety meds. I never thought I’d be grateful to see the Empty come back, but I am. Its familiarity is comforting in a strange way.

But it is not comforting, being back to bleary eyes and a tired heart, back to mornings where I can’t get out of bed and afternoons where I can’t eat and evenings when I can’t focus.

The thing about depression is that it doesn’t care how inconvenient it is for it to return, in the middle of midterms and ten hour shifts at the pool, in the middle of looking for you. And it won’t magically start caring about its interruptions once you are in my life either. Boys don’t solve depression.

There will be days where I’m distant, times when I feel so empty that I hide in myself. I don’t love you any less on those days. And I don’t need you to come charging in to the rescue on those days either.

Mostly I just need you to be patient, to wait for me to come back to you. It may take longer than both of us would like, but I will always come back.

Please be steady and know that I love you.