we are pilgrims in the land between religions
Shubh Deepavali. I have been utterly, utterly spoiled, and it was a beautiful Diwali. When I was in London over the weekend, jacinthsong and subservient_son gave me cards and presents and then chiasmata gave me mangoes (mangoes!) and a cheerfully ecumenical "festive" scented candle, and sparklers. On the day itself, I didn't do anything complicated; I covered the living room with tealights, put one on either side of the door, and told everyone to come to the Mousehole and help me celebrate. Which they did; they came, and they gave me sweets and fruit and more candles, and when I came to process around the house, leaving a diya in each room and each place where we live and work, they followed me around (I heard triptogenetica say, "This is the most religious thing I've done all year!") and it was a lovely sequence of moments and light. And we went into the garden and played with sparklers, and last night it snowed. It didn't stick, but it was beautiful.
(One jarring note: New Housemate trying to tell me (certain types of) racism are funny. But, well, Diwali is not a day on which I wish to educate people about their racism. I was thinking this morning in the blurry moments before consciousness that I used to not think so much, and I used to take a lot more for granted, and then I read and did my degree and just, thought a lot more, and now the world is a little darker around the edges, it's full of the awful things people do but also the awfulness of what they don't mean to do, but do, and my space in it is less comfortable as a consequence. But I take that, I take that knowledge over ignorance, and I keep on thinking and reading and I'll be on this planet another fifty years and there's space and time for me to change it.)
In short, it was a candlelit, comfortable night full of people and food and it was just the Diwali I wanted. Thank you all. My favourite part of it, other than the tealights, was the part where luminometrice and I decided that as she is a medic and I'm a baby lawyer, then clearly we should go into business as "Coroners R Us" when we grow up.
"You could do birthdays and bar mitzvahs," said magic_doors thoughtfully at this point.
"What?"
"Well, there was a coroner who used to come and give talks on colostomy bags..."
"What?"
"Do you think Jewish people shoudn't have colostomy bags, Iona, is that it?"
"Not thirteen-year-old Jewish boys doing their first reading from the Torah!"
"What, just because he has bowel cancer he shouldn't be a man?"
"No, no, of course, Maria and I will go into business together as Ecumenical Colostomy Balloon Animals R Us oh god what the hell is going on?"
I never did figure it out, but by then I was laughing so much it hurt to breathe. Life is strange but full of light.
Today, the world outside is at sub-zero temperatures and stupidly, ridiculously beautiful, with a clear-blue intensity to everything and all the edges cut out sharp in frost. Shortly, I shall stop procrastinating, playing with the cat and cleaning, and set myself to an essay on preliminary rulings in European Community legal systems, and then take a walk up the hill to school. I'm being talk-therapied again today. I'm not sure what to say, really, but I like the guy, and know he knows that I am not mad, and that's a start.
In brief: I am better. I feel now like I'm recovering from an injury, or at least a long illness; I get tired easily, noises hurt and the landlord drilling meant I had to leave the house, and I reach a point in every day where I just can't go on, I can't read, I can't think, I need to lie still with my eyes closed and wait for the inner lights to switch off. And yet. And yet, I have good day after good day, I look forward to honey and waffles in the afternoon, I write snippets of a story before bed. I remember why my friends make me laugh, I remember why the cat is still my dear beloved fluffy monster, I remember being in love.
I'm still not right. Most notably, I still don't have much of an appetite, and making myself eat is still something I'm working at. But this is perhaps the only good thing about depression, or being a person who has it - the climbing out to find the world waited for you. It kept on being beautiful, it kept on being full of light. I shall have to keep taking my pills religiously, and keep on being talk-therapied. But I'm still here.
(One jarring note: New Housemate trying to tell me (certain types of) racism are funny. But, well, Diwali is not a day on which I wish to educate people about their racism. I was thinking this morning in the blurry moments before consciousness that I used to not think so much, and I used to take a lot more for granted, and then I read and did my degree and just, thought a lot more, and now the world is a little darker around the edges, it's full of the awful things people do but also the awfulness of what they don't mean to do, but do, and my space in it is less comfortable as a consequence. But I take that, I take that knowledge over ignorance, and I keep on thinking and reading and I'll be on this planet another fifty years and there's space and time for me to change it.)
In short, it was a candlelit, comfortable night full of people and food and it was just the Diwali I wanted. Thank you all. My favourite part of it, other than the tealights, was the part where luminometrice and I decided that as she is a medic and I'm a baby lawyer, then clearly we should go into business as "Coroners R Us" when we grow up.
"You could do birthdays and bar mitzvahs," said magic_doors thoughtfully at this point.
"What?"
"Well, there was a coroner who used to come and give talks on colostomy bags..."
"What?"
"Do you think Jewish people shoudn't have colostomy bags, Iona, is that it?"
"Not thirteen-year-old Jewish boys doing their first reading from the Torah!"
"What, just because he has bowel cancer he shouldn't be a man?"
"No, no, of course, Maria and I will go into business together as Ecumenical Colostomy Balloon Animals R Us oh god what the hell is going on?"
I never did figure it out, but by then I was laughing so much it hurt to breathe. Life is strange but full of light.
Today, the world outside is at sub-zero temperatures and stupidly, ridiculously beautiful, with a clear-blue intensity to everything and all the edges cut out sharp in frost. Shortly, I shall stop procrastinating, playing with the cat and cleaning, and set myself to an essay on preliminary rulings in European Community legal systems, and then take a walk up the hill to school. I'm being talk-therapied again today. I'm not sure what to say, really, but I like the guy, and know he knows that I am not mad, and that's a start.
In brief: I am better. I feel now like I'm recovering from an injury, or at least a long illness; I get tired easily, noises hurt and the landlord drilling meant I had to leave the house, and I reach a point in every day where I just can't go on, I can't read, I can't think, I need to lie still with my eyes closed and wait for the inner lights to switch off. And yet. And yet, I have good day after good day, I look forward to honey and waffles in the afternoon, I write snippets of a story before bed. I remember why my friends make me laugh, I remember why the cat is still my dear beloved fluffy monster, I remember being in love.
I'm still not right. Most notably, I still don't have much of an appetite, and making myself eat is still something I'm working at. But this is perhaps the only good thing about depression, or being a person who has it - the climbing out to find the world waited for you. It kept on being beautiful, it kept on being full of light. I shall have to keep taking my pills religiously, and keep on being talk-therapied. But I'm still here.