Wednesday, February 29, 2012


The house is dark and the storm is upon us.
I have traversed close to the edge of getting scared that leads to panicking about dying tonight.
I tore layer upon layer of paper off of my chocolate milk box.
And then I took a picture of it.
It took me forty minutes to tear all that paper into layers.
I spent forty minutes tearing the paper off of my chocolate milk box.
At least I didn't spend forty minutes tearing the skin off my fingers although I might have already done that today.
It only got to bleeding once on my thumb during last period while we were discussing The Catcher In The Rye and Holden.
Gosh, I love Holden. I pity him, but I also love him.
Don't you just want to give him a great big hug?
Considering the majority, no, you probably don't, but I do.
I want to be there when he cries--every single time.
I wish I could hold him and it not be awkward.
Don't you think it would be awkward if I just held him?
Maybe not. Maybe it wouldn't be, but maybe it would.
While I was peeling, I wondered if I am getting depressed.
I remember saying that I wasn't ever going to go back to that black hole again?
But I realized that I can't really control whether I get depressed again or not.
I feel like saying that I'll never let myself get depressed again is just another way of bottling all of it up, which in turn, leads to depression.
Cutting is not an option for me.
This, I know already.
I have now come to grips that depression is an option.
Cutting is never an option, but depression is.
I feel that my depression was cleansing, and although it was turbulent it was also some of the calmest I've ever been in my life in a way.
I don't think I'm getting depressed.
I wouldn't doubt that someday I'll be depressed again, but hey, that's just life.
It's okay to be depressed.
It's not okay to bottle it up.
Depression was when my "all of it" was pouring out of me: consuming me.
I still hid, but I cried.
And maybe I was frustrated that my friends didn't see it, but I was completely immersed within myself and I was completely mindful of myself. Maybe I wasn't mindful of anything else, but I was mindful of myself without realizing it.
So, just saying, if I get depressed I have not failed.
If I get depressed, I have lived and lived to tell the tail of the tale.
And it's okay because I won't die tonight.
If I do die tonight, I guess I was wrong.

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