// Brent Pearson //
These days I am pretty consistently not depressed. I definitely still have gloomy periods, but even when I'm down, I know that the feeling will pass. That is revolutionary! Before, when I would get mired, it was like mired was all that existed and all that would ever exist. Sure, I'm still dysfunctional. (Aren't we all?) But mostly I feel okay--I feel good! I'm hardly even scared to write this; barely worried about jinxing my progress.
Who am I when I'm not a depressive? I can define myself in terms of relationships to other people: daughter, girlfriend, sister, etc. But who am I to me? Of course, mental illness wasn't the only key aspect of my identity, so it's not like I feel lost and person-less. Besides, I will never actually let go of being crazy. I would if I could, but to the best of my knowledge the imbalances are permanently built into my brain. Still, now I get to conceive of myself as a creative, because I am doing things; making things.
// Peyri Herrera //
I walked my neighbor's dog a few times recently. Button is a sweet pup, but she's not well-trained. For instance, occasionally she tries to veer off into the street, and I have to put my weight on the leash to keep her on the sidewalk. What's more odd and very touching is that she needs to be reassured a couple of times when we're out. She'll look up at me with mournful eyes, and press against my legs, curving her body around me in a half-hug. Then I pet her and tell her she's a good girl, which she mostly is, and she leans on me. Button has thick fur, black with caramel markings, and she's warm against my shins. I run my hands over her sides and scratch behind her ears.
It feels good to comfort another creature. And I can relate to Button's need for reassurance. I think a similar impulse is why I started texting my boyfriend "sweet dreams" every night. His affectionate replies assuage my doubts. I wonder all the time, "Am I lovable? Am I annoying you with my need for attention?" Sometimes I outright ask him, "Will you say something nice to me, please?" And he'll reply along the lines of, "Babe, you're beautiful and intelligent." I guess it helps.
[The photo depicts a forlorn-looking dog with Button's coloring, not Button herself.]
I find your juxtaposition of Button's anxiety and your musings on depression interesting. I think all of us, at times, no matter how self-assured in bearing, feel like Button and need comforting and assurance. And half-hugs.
ReplyDeleteAmen to that.
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