In the span of a year.
A year ago, I was in the throes of a depression so deep there were days when all I could accomplish was going from the bed to the couch. There were other days of horrible sobbing which wracked my body and left me even more exhausted than I already was upon waking. There were days when I couldn't keep my body from shaking with anxiety. There were so many days.
Hindsight shows me that it had started as early as six months before. Over the months I grew more tired, day by day. My energy was sapped from me, gradually.
I built the wall one brick at a time. And when all you see is one brick at a time, you don't see the wall until it is utterly insurmountable, so high it could block the sun. When I hit the wall, I would wake up and almost immediately begin to cry; even consciousness was too much to bear.
I still hadn't really recovered completely by the time my employer decided to shut down and send everyone home in March. I don't really remember much of April or May, or even June. The days all bled into each other with nothing to differentiate them. It fed my depression, ultimately making it last longer than it otherwise might have. Literally having nothing to wake up for doesn't help a mind already predisposed to that notion.
Going back to my office in July was welcome in many ways. If nothing else, it was somewhere else I could be. I'd never wanted to not be home so much in my life. And things started feeling genuinely better.
August and September were the months I can remember Brandon's wall building. The first brick was laid years ago, but I didn't notice him building it up until he was about to hit it full force. I experienced the utter powerlessness of waking up to a loved one in tears and abject misery, knowing there was nothing I could do to help. Such moments sap at you in a different way; a heartbreaking way.
October and November were reboot months, a chance for a fresh start. Brandon sold his house at a tidy profit and we left it in the past. In my mind, I hoped I would leave my inertia in the past, too. I imagined it as though it were smoke that had seeped into the walls of the house, so that all I really had to do to escape it was leave.
I have had to find my footing again, and it remains a process, as it will forever be. But having survived this long, I know now that I can.
It's December now, month of my birthday, which invariably causes me to reflect on my life. And all things considered, even a pandemic, I think I have a good life.
Brandon and Kevin spent my birthday with me this year, together. I ordered sushi delivery for dinner, to Kevin's chagrin. We ate dinner together in the new apartment Brandon and I had fled to. After dinner, I opened my presents from each of them. A very Brandon gift from Brandon (a top shelf fountain pen and fresh inks), and a very Kevin gift from Kevin (a pair of double-lined super-cozy socks). I hugged and kissed each of them and thanked them again for loving me. It still feels surprising to me that anyone could love me the way they each do. It is even more surprising that they have found a way to love me together; that they have allowed me to build the family that makes sense to me.
I've not accomplished nothing in the span of a year, because I survived again when it would have been so much easier to quit, and let go. It is always easier to do nothing than something, to lie defenseless when you should fight. I fought, and maybe even won.
And that is not nothing.
Hindsight shows me that it had started as early as six months before. Over the months I grew more tired, day by day. My energy was sapped from me, gradually.
I built the wall one brick at a time. And when all you see is one brick at a time, you don't see the wall until it is utterly insurmountable, so high it could block the sun. When I hit the wall, I would wake up and almost immediately begin to cry; even consciousness was too much to bear.
I still hadn't really recovered completely by the time my employer decided to shut down and send everyone home in March. I don't really remember much of April or May, or even June. The days all bled into each other with nothing to differentiate them. It fed my depression, ultimately making it last longer than it otherwise might have. Literally having nothing to wake up for doesn't help a mind already predisposed to that notion.
Going back to my office in July was welcome in many ways. If nothing else, it was somewhere else I could be. I'd never wanted to not be home so much in my life. And things started feeling genuinely better.
August and September were the months I can remember Brandon's wall building. The first brick was laid years ago, but I didn't notice him building it up until he was about to hit it full force. I experienced the utter powerlessness of waking up to a loved one in tears and abject misery, knowing there was nothing I could do to help. Such moments sap at you in a different way; a heartbreaking way.
October and November were reboot months, a chance for a fresh start. Brandon sold his house at a tidy profit and we left it in the past. In my mind, I hoped I would leave my inertia in the past, too. I imagined it as though it were smoke that had seeped into the walls of the house, so that all I really had to do to escape it was leave.
I have had to find my footing again, and it remains a process, as it will forever be. But having survived this long, I know now that I can.
It's December now, month of my birthday, which invariably causes me to reflect on my life. And all things considered, even a pandemic, I think I have a good life.
Brandon and Kevin spent my birthday with me this year, together. I ordered sushi delivery for dinner, to Kevin's chagrin. We ate dinner together in the new apartment Brandon and I had fled to. After dinner, I opened my presents from each of them. A very Brandon gift from Brandon (a top shelf fountain pen and fresh inks), and a very Kevin gift from Kevin (a pair of double-lined super-cozy socks). I hugged and kissed each of them and thanked them again for loving me. It still feels surprising to me that anyone could love me the way they each do. It is even more surprising that they have found a way to love me together; that they have allowed me to build the family that makes sense to me.
I've not accomplished nothing in the span of a year, because I survived again when it would have been so much easier to quit, and let go. It is always easier to do nothing than something, to lie defenseless when you should fight. I fought, and maybe even won.
And that is not nothing.