July 10, 2015
I had lunch with a friend today, and it felt really really good.
And as I approached my home I realized that I didn’t want the day to end, because it was all just so uplifting and so genuine and I was afraid of what waited for me.
I think my last letter to you really shows how dark I’m allowing myself to become. It’s hard because it seems inevitable. How sad is that? That being sad is inevitable for me.
I think that is often the most common misconception about depression, that there are choices to be made in how it’ll affect you.
But there really is a helplessness I feel. July, even on my happiest days, burrowed deep inside of me, there is sorrow, that is insatiable and mysterious, and I don’t want this. The ache can be crippling.
I straightened my hair and put on make up today, I wore an outfit that I felt confident in, I am going out with my boy later and I saw my dear friend. I had a piece of cake, no calories counted, no shits given. I made those choices. I chose to live well today, to be happy, though I’ve considered all the facts. I choose to ceaselessly chase that which brings me joy, because I deserve to feel good even if for just a moment. I am trying to remember the love that is around me when I can’t find it within, and I can only hope that I can maintain this. I know that this is a temporary moment for me, as I will fall sad again, I’m trying to be okay with that.
And thank you, July, for your constancy, I’ve known you all my life, you aren’t the reason for my pain, despite my passive accusations in the last letter. You have brought me beauty as well. I must remember that.
“let me live, love, and say it well in good sentences”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath