suspended in gaffa

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I’ve blogged before about my struggle with melancholic depression, a type of major depressive disorder characterized by intense feelings of despair, overwhelming feelings of guilt, loss of appetite, and an intensification of symptoms in the morning. It is episodic in nature. It has no specific trigger. For me, it comes without warning, lasts up to a week, and then disappears as suddenly as it had arrived. Some days, when under its dictates, I cannot get out of bed or speak.

I’m fortunate to work flexible hours and to have my depression largely under control: when I’m experiencing an episode, I participate in the obligatory riffs with friends, post as fervently on Instagram as usual, and listen to the same music. I think (hope) that the only difference perceptible to others is that I seem more curt and out of it. When depressed, I find conversations to be like communicating with someone through the end of a very long tunnel. Internally, I am miserable, I tire more easily, and I develop headaches. I don’t go on the long walks I am fond of and I don’t eat much.

A week ago, I got the notification that this domain was about to expire. I considered letting Looking Glass War’s domain lapse. I was embarrassed that I’d vanished so soon after promising a series of analysis, and was angry at my own limitations. Despite the small subscriber list, I was ashamed that I couldn’t produce even a simple blog post on topics I know better than anything.

As uncomfortable and excruciating as I find even alluding to my depression, I articulate all this in the hopes that others may find it helpful to their own experiences. I don’t think a series on Q anon is going to happen – I am going to let myself enjoy writing again: dumb bits I make up about tv and literature and flash fiction pieces based on absurd headlines. As I venture forward into year two of this obscure little blog, I am happy to have this space to do this.

Depression is the depressive’s favorite subject, because it turns you inward. In spite of this, I don’t think I’ll mention it in the future. If you experience a similar disorder, just know that there are lots of us out there and that, although it really doesn’t seem like it, there is a singular intricacy and grace to the world around us. It’s a beautiful, collective work, and we are all interconnected. Your struggle is my struggle, as mine is yours. And even something like admiring the shape of a shadow on the sidewalk is a thing that grounds you in the everyday. We are lucky to experience it.

Some things that I have enjoyed recently (hover for links):

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