When I was a little girl, Sunday was a hard day. Sundays made me really sad but I didn’t know why, exactly. I would often spend the afternoon binge-watching nickelodeon, as the sun slowly traveled the sky and my dad passed by the bedroom window as he worked on the yard. Eventually dusk would come, and I’d gaze at the pink skyline. Despite the mouthwatering aromas emanating from the kitchen and the soothing soundtrack twinkling from the stereo, this empty feeling would swell in my heart. I dreaded Sundays. That is one my earliest memories of feeling depressed. I didn’t realize it until I was older, of course, but that empty feeling has followed me for years, rearing it’s ugly head at every opportune time. It’s an ongoing battle, and it’s been kicking my ass lately.
Today can only be described as a lazy. ass. day. After a night of… just… shenanigans with Poofl and Huzband Zero, we sat nursing our hangovers to Bob’s Burgers and leftover mac n chi… literally all day. Finally, I gathered my things to head back to Sarasota to prepare for my first day at the museum. Dusk was falling as I sped down I-75. An incoming storm turned the sky from pink to a steely grey. As the wind whipped my hair and the Menzingers blasted through the speakers, I could feel it coming for me. It came with force, intense like the eventual downpour. I cried for every reason and for none. I thought about the next few months and how this feeling would creep up again and again. How it may get a little bit worse before it gets better, as much like a recovering addict I vowed to cope in healthier ways than I had been. I cried for how uprooted my life has been the past year, and how as exciting and beautifully enlightening it has been, it has been so very hard. I cried over how all those drastic changes had affected my sense of self. I cried because I felt lost, and I didn’t know how long it would take to feel like me again.
There was a glimmer of light, however. I came home and dropped my things, and I looked to the oodles of wine my Dad had sent down with me. I looked at them, and then I looked away. I went upstairs and changed, and I went for a run. I haven’t done that in a long time (which was glaringly obvious after a mere 2 miles). When I returned, I was still sad, but somehow it felt more manageable, or at least more minuscule. Small victories, right? I reconciled and accepted that many people love living out of a suitcase, love the freedom that comes with no strings attached, and that I am not one of those people. At least, not yet. Considering how much I’ve changed and grown thus far in life’s journey, who’s to say I won’t just decide to be that way. After all, I’ve done it before.
Current Jam: “Light” Common
Granted we’ve known each other for some tim / It don’t take a whole day to recognize sunshine