this weekend was really bad, in terms of mental health. i haven’t felt this crazy in a long time. things got really awful and then they got better, like a thunderstorm and then it’s over.
ray thinks that it’s “post-partum depression” from my book, and also that maybe editing my book, which is very, very loosely based on my younger, crazier years (everyone who reads it assumes it’s an autobiography, but there are maybe 5 pages worth of events in the whole 200+ page manuscript that actually happened to me; the rest is fiction! fiction! fiction! and if it “sounds like me,” well duh, that’s because i wrote it!), is reminding me of all the fun parts of those times, and not how fucking hard it was. and it’s making me kind of sad that that part of my life is over & i’m in this easier-but-duller stretch.
i think i’m sad because i struggle every day in a world that hates me and because i spend 35 hours a week sitting in a room with people who very, very obviously don’t like me, even though they don’t know a damn thing about me, because i don’t look like them and i don’t share their fucked up opinions and, no matter how much i try to clean up there is always something that’s a little, little off….and it is hard to be in that environment without internalizing it in some way. without feeling like maybe there is something wrong with you, maybe you are all the bad things that people have been calling you for literally your entire fucking life, maybe that sweet voice inside of you, that fire burning steadily, maybe that was wrong and they’re all right. and oh, doesn’t that just make you wish you were dead? of course it does.
but i’ve been taking care. calling friends, reading inspiring zines, screaming when i’ve gotta scream, mending bridges, reminding myself that they haven’t gotten me yet. and that’s all i can do. i don’t know anything else.