A Painfully Honest Post in Which I Use the F-Word Like a Comma

…and you’ve all seen how I use commas.

CONTENT WARNING: Discussion of suicidal thoughts.  A good deal of cursing.

A message to 2017:

This year is, in my opinion, welcome to take a flying fuck at a rolling donut off a cliff into a Sarlacc pit.

I had a great birthday, by the way.  That’s not sarcasm.  I got to spend time with my favorite people, drank a lot of Mexican Mules, ate an enormous vegan raspberry mocha birthday cake (that I didn’t even have to bake myself!), and put out a new book that week, so, yay me!  I don’t want to downplay the loveliness of all of that, especially since it came in a week that I was a) on my fucking period and b) having some really unpleasant emotional crap.

As soon as the 19th passed, however, my mind immediately went into “OKAY TIME FOR 2018 TO GET HERE BRING ON THE WORKBOOKS AND NEW PLANNERS BECAUSE SERIOUSLY, FUCK THIS YEAR.”  

I have zero reason to believe that 2018 will be any better for the world or myself, but at this point, I’m still anxious to get there, because 2018 has one obvious advantage:  It isn’t motherfucking 2017.

I’ve been trying to figure out why 2017 was so much worse for me mentally than 2016 (I’m not talking globally – I think we can identify a large, tantrum-throwing, tangerine-tinted reason it’s been bad for the world) even though 2016 was a trip to the special hell for a lot of people (can we please agree to stop holding beers for anybody?), and I think I’ve hit upon at least one thing, a phrase that I feel applies to most of the last 11 months:

Passive suicidal ideation.

Important Clarification: I am not now, nor have I been, planning to kill myself.  I swore years ago I would never do that, and my brother’s decision to put a gun to his head in 2004 only solidified that resolve.  You’re probably thinking of active ideation, which is what we typically think of when the topic of suicide comes up:  Someone wants to die, and that someone has a plan, or is trying to decide on a plan.  They intend to take steps – or they’re at least coming up with steps.  

Passive ideation is more of a “…what if I just let it happen?”  What if I don’t lock the doors?  What if I don’t look both ways?  What if I don’t get that lump checked out?  What if I keep drinking?  What if…

What if I just stop trying to take care of my body at all, and keep eating horrible, dairy-and-fat-and-sugar laden food for every meal and not exercising until at some point I have a heart attack or become diabetic and my body gives out on me?  How long would that take, I wonder?  Would I be able to stop myself in time to avoid permanent damage?  Would I even care by the time I got genuinely sick?  Or by then would I feel so awful every hour of every day that I’d be looking forward to that MI or stroke?  

It’s the ultimate in societally-assisted suicide, isn’t it?  The whole world WANTS you to eat shit, and moreover wants you to hate yourself for it.  One commercial sells you the 2 pound bacon burger, the next sells you the gym membership.  Being “healthy” is considered being morally upright, being fat (regardless of circumstance) and being sick (regardless of circumstance) are considered the just fruits of a slovenly lifestyle.  People know what your body karma is just by looking at you, right?  Why not just go with it?  If you’ve dealt with hate and sneering because of your body your whole life, isn’t there a certain macabre satisfaction in proving them “right?”  

If it sounds absurd, well, it isIt’s utter fucking madness.  But apparently at some point this year it’s what I decided my fate would be.  Years of slowly encroaching body hate that have eaten away at my self-worth like a cancer just sort of took over, and I stopped giving a shit about much of anything.  I just sort of…gave up on myself.  I was going through the motions of what I thought my life should be, but aside from finishing SHADOW RISING, I didn’t give a damn about life.  I was just waiting for something to kill me.

Even better:  To me being vegan isn’t just an ethical choice, it’s a spiritual one.  It means embracing compassion and kindness; it means honoring what I consider holy, and one of those things is body autonomy.  I don’t feel like I have the right to claim ownership over the body of another creature – certainly not to the point to pay someone to torment and kill them just for my own appetites.  But the consequence of that is, if I didn’t believe I myself deserved that compassion and kindness, I could never overcome the cognitive dissonance that kept me from being able to stick with my ethical choices.  Either my beliefs apply to all animals, including this one, or they are incomplete at best and hypocritical at worst. 

So I embraced another kind of hypocrisy:  Say one thing but do another.  Fuck the consequences.  It’s practically the goddamn American Way.

Actually I think the appropriate term is “passive-aggressive suicidal ideation.”

This is all especially galling when you consider I LITERALLY WROTE THE BOOK ON THIS SHIT.  

But it just goes to show you that the messages and beliefs we receive don’t just go away because we do the work of self-acceptance; they can sneak back in, chip away at all that effort, until you’re back where you started.  Loving yourself is both a practical and spiritual practice that you have to continually adapt and renew to reflect who you are and where you are.  The world is constantly battering at your defenses looking for weak spots.  If you want to protect your heart without walling yourself off from the good stuff, you have to be fucking relentless at gatekeeping.

Do as I say, not as I do.  

I can’t say for sure what brought me to the realization of what I was doing to myself; I haven’t taken any real steps to change course, but I’ve become aware of my behavior and am paying attention now, studying myself like both an autoanthropologist and a shaman, trying to read my own bones.  If I am nothing else, I am excellent at uncovering a character’s inner workings, and what protagonist better to delve into than the one of my own life?

A number of Large Realizations have hit me since my birth-week and I think they’re good ones; I’ve decided to bring some things back into my life that have been sorely missed, which I’ll talk about more later, but overall I’m taking things slowly, as the energy of the year’s end dictates.  You can’t spend months and months fucking something up and then instantly un-fuck it.

The waning months of the year have definitely lived up to their symbolism.  I have a huge pile of figurative crap I’ve been carrying around all year, so heavy it literally makes me go to bed and sleep and sleep.  I have years of disappointments, sadness, anger, fear, past accomplishments and failures, judgments, triumphs, tragedies, and those obnoxious little hopes I can’t seem to shake clinging to my back.    

This time of year we decide what’s worth holding onto.

I am worth holding onto, goddamn it.  

This time of year is the time to decide what lives and what dies.  

There are a lot of things I want to let die. 

But I am not one of them.

It’s time I started fucking acting like it.

 

NOTE:  I’m turning of comments here because this sort of post usually attracts lots of diet talk and wellness-evangelizing, and I’m not in the mood for either.  I’m glad giving up gluten revolutionized your whatever and that ketogenic bone broth vagina steaming changed your life, but the internet is full of places for that kind of discussion and this is not one of them. 

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Oh, My Word

Note: This isn’t me asking for life advice.  It’s a state-of-the-author sort of thing, and I was hesitant to post it because I’m sure my long-suffering readers grow weary of hearing me talk about my issues.  But I used to be far more confessional and far braver, so, the least I can do is be honest about where I’m at.  Or not at.  Whatever.

Also I realize there are more pressing things going on in the world right now than my state of mind, but if you think I stand anywhere but against racism and bigotry in all its pernicious forms you must not have read anything I’ve ever written ever.  I feel like other people have much better things to say than I could come up with…partially because of my state of mind.  Hence:

“Disenchantment” is the word I’m looking for.

I keep a timeline of events in my life – a Word file tucked away where I make note of significant happenings each year.  New jobs, new friends, new meds, relationships ending, even a few world events.  Anything that will help me place that year in context later when my long-term memory, damaged by years of Ambien use and mental illness, fails to put things in order. 

Not remotely related to anything, but it’s hot as hell and I thought we could all use a laugh.

I’m turning 40 in November, and it’s already got me in something of a state – not so much at the whole “middle age” concept, as at the realization of everything that has happened in my 30s and how much I seem to have lost or forgotten along the way.

In my early 30s things weren’t perfect.  Depression has always been a traveling companion, sometimes in the back seat and sometimes at the wheel.  My 30s started only a few years after the sudden death of my brother sent everything I knew into a tailspin, but at least by 2007 I felt like I was starting to get a few things right.

The first three years or so of the decade so much happened.  I started it in a coven of amazing women, where I got to work with my best friend to create rituals – as a group we were powerful, devoted, and hilarious.  We had so much fun…until we didn’t. 

I started the decade in a relationship.  It was never perfect either, and over time I realized I just didn’t feel the kind of love I felt he deserved.  I might not be capable of that kind of devotion to a human being; I’ll probably never know.  But I ended it with all the skill of a toddler with nuclear codes, as is apparently my MO.   

But all of that loss was tempered, at least somewhat, by what was beginning:  my career as a novelist.  It was the only dream I ever really had; everything else was just an idle half-assed notion.  When I began writing Queen of Shadows I knew it was good.   And when I sold it, and its sequel, without an agent, I thought, This is it, I’m doing it, I’m on my way, this is gonna be so huge.  I can feel it.  It’s happening.  My life is happening.

I was naïve, of course, and I’m sure any other writers out there are sighing and shaking their heads thinking, “Boy were you in for a rude awakening.” 

Yeah, no shit.

But for the first time in my entire life I felt like I was headed the right way.  Like everything I’d learned and done and been through, even the worst things I was still afraid to write about, was going to be worth it.  The possibilities of the next decade, my 30s, my creative coming of age, spread out before me, gleaming like spires of marble under the moon. 

So I’m about to turn 40 and the only question that comes to mind is, What the fuck happened to me?

I’m not talking about my career.  I’ve got some amazing fans and I’m still writing novels, so, as far as I’m concerned my career is still chugging along, even if it’s not really chugging to anywhere.  It’s not going to be able to move forward until I come up with new stories, which as a matter of fact is part of what I’m talking about here.

Looking back at those early years the one word that keeps coming to mind is magic.  Whether it was Craft-with-a-capital-C or the feeling of life soaring out ahead of me on its very own wings, even the lows of those years felt magical.  There was magic in the world, in my life.  I had power, and I used it, and I reveled in it.

2011 was, I think, when I started to lose it.  Was it related to marrying myself, I wonder?  Did the hate I received over Shadowflame do more than just break my heart?  Did the mistakes I made online, which resulted in a lot of pain involving my family, compound that fracture?

That’s not to say everything after that sucked.  Far from it!  Some really cool stuff has happened since then and I’m grateful for every little bit!  But the last half of my thirties has been…well, kind of awful, to be perfectly honest, and again, not because of bad or good things happening so much as the feeling that none of those things really mattered.  I’ve started 100 new projects, I’ve turned over a thousand new leaves.  I’ve tried to affect my physical health, my mental health, my spirituality, and I’ve even tried doing nothing at all.  Every effort (or lack thereof) I’ve made to figure myself out or move in a more positive direction, or at least to figure out what direction to even try moving in, has met with disappointment. 

I’ve begun to feel like that’s all adulthood is – being tired, disappointed, and in debt until you die.

That’s a shitty way to feel! 

Nothing I hoped for in my tender years has come to pass.  Things I thought were a sure bet turned out to be nothing special.  People I love who should be doing really well are constantly beset with pain and trouble they don’t deserve.  The world is kind of going to shit all around us.

That’s life, right?

Is it?

And above all, there seems to be no magic left in my life.  I still meditate, and it helps me stay on a more even emotional keel (relatively speaking), but I feel no connection to spirit, no sense of the sacred in anything. 

A couple of years ago I opened the floor to any deity who’d have me.  “Hey Anybody,” I said, “Just slap me on the rump and I’m yours, we’ll work it out.”  I wanted to be Someone’s again, to have that relationship, to be inspired.   I was willing to work past the issues I’ve addressed before with mainstream religion if I could just feel something.

Nothing.

Not even at church on Easter.  In fact I found myself fighting tears for the same reason I had so many years ago, at age sixteen:  I wanted so badly to feel something, but there was only emptiness. 

Intellectually I still hold to most of the beliefs I always have about deity and the Earth and what matters in life.  Ethically I’ve become even more of a feminist bunny hugger.  But it’s a matter of justice now, not a matter of holiness. 

That hurts.

Thus, my word of the year is apparently one I didn’t choose, but chose me a long time ago and doesn’t seem willing to let me catch a breath of anything but mud. 

Disenchantment. 

The word came to me, oddly enough, in a Tarot reading.  I’ve kept on doing my monthly readings even though I didn’t really do much with them, and last month I got a new deck out of desperation.  My reading for August brought up four water cards, and the interpretation in the deck’s little white booklet stood out in black all caps:

DISENCHANTMENT

Literally, figuratively.

Utterly.

And until I can find a way to re-enchant my life, what do I do?

I finish Shadow Rising.  I hope it still catches my readers’ hearts.  I go to my day job, I come home from my day job.  I work overtime hoping to eventually have a savings account again so maybe someday I can get the fuck out of Texas.  I listen to the Hamilton soundtrack.  I donate to my causes and pray to Whomever might be listening (or not, how would I even know anymore?) that the world finds its way through its own dark night of the soul.  I take my meds, change my meds, adjust my meds, take my omega-3s and magnesium and rhodiola and B-complex and probiotics.  I check things off in my planner and make more lists in my planner.  I keep trying to be vegan.  I wonder at what point a crisis of faith becomes a permanent loss of faith.   I read.  I meditate.  I talk to birds and trees and don’t expect answers.  I fall in love with TV shows and lose interest ¾ through.  I look at cat videos.  I laugh at bad puns. I make stickers for my planner.  I remember what it felt like to teach, and to have something to teach.  I dust my altar.

And I wonder what it’s all for.

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Planner Friday: Dangerous Creatures

This week’s inspiration:  Women reading books, inspired by my second viewing of the live-action (and utterly gorgeous) Beauty and the Beast.  

I started with Belle, of course, then branched out into my next favorite book maven, Lizzie Bennett.  Just searching for “Women Reading” yielded up dozens of lovely classical paintings and more modern work as well, so I was spoiled for choice.

It only seemed fitting to use a font called Jane Austen for this theme.

You’ll notice the new tracking sticker at the bottom of each day; I’ve been noticing a slight alteration in the pattern of my moods lately and I needed data to get a better handle on what effect my most recent meds change has had, so I created the sticker to make note of mood changes between my workday and everything that’s not the workday.  (It’s a scale of 0-5, and I make a little mark on whatever level I feel that symptom was at)

I also used this book washi, which I’ve had forever, though there are a number of similar designs all over the internet.

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Note to Self #3: Don’t it Make Your Grey Days Blue?

Hey Sugarbanana,

Let’s look at a typical month in your mood cycle for a minute.  The average 30 days in your life, with the absolute minimum of self-care work and no external mitigating factors, break down something like:

2-3 Black Days – Unable to function. We talked about these last time.

10-14 Grey Days – On these days you’re basically functional but not doing great. You can accomplish most basic tasks, spend time with friends, but are easily worn out by social situations and often overwhelmed.  You feel worn out or numb most of the time punctuated by crying or going to bed right after work.

7 or so Blue Days – You love blue, so, in your case Blue Days are a positive.  On Blue Days you feel pretty well; you can enjoy fun things, don’t break commitments, you get writing done.  You even cook.  You’re not bouncing off walls but you feel about 70% capable and cautiously optimistic.

2-3 Teal Days – The coveted Teal Day is one in which you feel completely like yourself – and you are aware that being you is a good thing.  These are the days that you feel switched on, even hopeful; you come up with ideas, you’re excited about coming events.  Now, Teal Days can edge into hypomania, which is distinguishable by the underlying anxiety; hypomania is slightly agitated, more of a “I HAVE TO GET THINGS DONE WHILE I CAN” that leads to overscheduling, making grandiose plans, and eventually crashing.  But true Teal Days feel natural and expansive, not edgy.

4-5 Red Days – These are bleeding days, in which case, who the fuck knows?  Red Days, along with the transitional days that lead from one color to another, are unpredictable.  When you were younger your hormones were a much better predictor of how the overall month would flow, but as we head toward your 40s they’re getting less reliable.  Sometimes you feel great while you’re bleeding and sometimes you feel homicidal.  The only real constant is that on the days you’re bleeding the most you tend to feel horny as a ten-peckered owl.  You already know the self-care for that.

Now of course this is all a simplification – depending on the outside world, your physical health, and the whims of the meth-addled trickster god in charge of your neurotransmitters, any of these phases can be longer or shorter, and your cycles don’t run in a perfect monthly rhythm.  This is just a visual aid.

The goal of self-care, for you anyway, is to shift each of those colors into the next best shade or at least extend the span of Blue and Teal days so the calendar looks more like this:

Of course you’d love to get rid of the Black altogether, but let’s be realistic here – those days have always been with you.  As I said before, accept that they’ll come, plan for them, try not to judge yourself for having them.  

The obvious place to start is with Grey Days.  Faithful self-care routines have the most noticeable effect there.  When you’re feeding and moving and offering kindness to all the various parts of you, Grey Days turn into a soft grey-blue, and then into full Blue.  You feel stronger and more stable and from there you can even turn some Blues into Teal – just beware pushing too hard, or those Teals will tend more toward hypomania than happiness.  

Self-care also helps the Red Days skew a bit less chaotic.  If nothing else, movement and intentional eating can cut down on physical symptoms like cramps and body aches, and that’s always good.

That’s pretty reasonable, right?  The cool part is it doesn’t take a herculean effort to do this, just some small changes here and there. 

But where to start?

You start with The Daily 3.

What are three small, measurable things you could do to feel like you made a decent showing for yourself on a Grey Day? 

Remember, we’re talking about a day when you feel essentially functional – you wake up pretty sure you can get out of bed, make it through work, come home, feed yourself, and maybe do a thing or two off your endless non-self-care to do list.  You don’t feel particularly jazzed about any of it, but you know you can do it. 

Aim majorly low on the tree at first.  Maybe three minimums for you would be

  1. 1. get out of bed
  2. 2. brush your teeth
  3. 3. don’t get back in bed before 9pm

So, make it a goal to do those three things every day for a week during Grey Days. 

After a week take a look at those three things again.  Were they all way easy, left you feeling a little silly for checking them off?  Or was one of them much harder than you anticipated? 

Your next step is to drop the easiest one off the list and replace it with something a little harder.  Not a big leap, just something that requires you to stretch a tiny bit.  If you know getting out of bed on Grey Days is a given, replace it with something like Eat a Vegetable.  Still not difficult, but requires a bit more effort. 

Just take those three minimum things and play with them.  If you want you could even expand the list to four or five items when you’re feeling a little better, and have your minimum three plus something more ambitious that week to see how you like it.  That way if that fourth item is beyond your stretch you’ve still accomplished your essential three.  I wouldn’t go much bigger than that yet, though, lest you get overwhelmed.  Maybe make it “three things plus one” where that one is something off your bigger to-do list.  Remember, we’re starting tiny but solid, to give you something to build on.  

An important note:  Not accomplishing all three every day is not the end of the world.  In fact, one of the benefits of this activity is it can help you realize ahead of time that you’re sliding back toward Black, which can happen for a variety of reasons.  If you see that your 3 aren’t getting done for several days, it might be an alert from your brain that you need to take a step back and see where you really are.  As soon as you realize you’re in a bad way, stop worrying about your Daily 3 until you feel better. Do NOT make this a way to judge yourself. Just back off and start over.  Every day you wake up still breathing, you have a chance to try again.  This whole thing is meant to help you design a self-care practice that’s both dependable and flexible, that both responds to your life and can help shape it.  There are no absolutes here, only adaptation.  

Your goal at first is to get to know yourself better.  Some of the things you try on your Daily 3 are going to be really important for a long time, and some you’ll drop almost immediately when you realize they’re just not a priority for you.  You will likely surprise yourself with what you are able to do and how good it feels to check things off.  

Eventually that Minimum 3 can evolve into something pretty awesome, because you can use it to help you achieve long-term goals and create a more ambitious self-care practice through the almighty power of the LIST.  *maniacal laughter*

Till then, love much,

Me

PS – Perhaps you’re a planner sort of person and want a way to keep track of your Daily 3?  You’re in luck – I’ve made some printable stickers for you.  You’ve got three options:

Watercolor
Hamsters
Muted Colors

They’re sized to fit in the sidebar of a great many planners and calendars.

If you’re less of a planner sort, or if you use an A5 binder, you can download and print out this version which is a half-sheet sized tracker you can hang on your fridge, tuck in a notebook, or whatever tickles your fancy.

My Daily Threes pdf

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Note to Self #2: Starting Small

Good morning dear one,

Let’s pick up where we left off, shall we?

The funny thing about self-care is that you do it all the time even if you don’t call it that. If you’re a living adult not hooked up to life support you’ve been engaging in self-care every day, and like a lot of people you may suck at it.

In your case of course there are considerations beyond being too busy. Having a chronic illness, invisible or otherwise, makes positive self-care way harder just like it makes everything way harder.

Like I said last time, you’re not “normal,” and can’t be. Comparing your own level of self-care to those who are able to function at “normal” levels is not just pointless, it’s toxic; and even if you were of average ability there are always going to be people who can accomplish a thousand things before breakfast and seem to float around the planet in a state of perfect health.

I guarantee those people have problems you can’t see – even the most “together” person gets the shit kicked out of her by life now and then. But you can’t know what other people are dealing with any more than they know what you’re dealing with, so there’s no use in feeling like a failure if your life isn’t an endless Instagram feed of vintage-filtered adventure and kale smoothies that somehow don’t taste like bong water.

You have to pick your battles, especially when things are bad. For a fully able person self-care might include hours of exercise and fresh home-cooked meals every night and weekly mani-pedis. But that’s not you. Besides, you don’t like people touching your feet.

Those Pinterest-friendly lists of “10 ways to practice self-care” aren’t gospel. Fuck spa night! You can barely get out of bed! Again – don’t set yourself up to fail using someone else’s standards.

However, even on bad days, there are ways to do better by yourself.

Start with the absolute basics.

Say you’re lying in bed, paralyzed by the relentless gravity of your own mind, and you know it’s going to be one of those days.

You know what? That’s okay. The world will not end. Forget the rest of the world and focus on keeping your heart beating another day so that when the weight on your chest begins to lighten you’re still here to see the color come back into the world. You don’t have to try and force it – you know that won’t work anyway. All the “positive thinking” in the world won’t turn the planet faster. It’s okay.

It really is okay.

Eventually you’re going to have to pee, though, and that’s a good place to start. After you’re done, wash your hands, then wash your face. Just a bit of water – it’ll help get the sleep gunk and tear residue out of your eyes. That’s it. Just wash your face.

It’s possible this will make you want to brush your teeth. If so, go ahead. If not, that’s fine too, go back to bed. You might not do anything else today, but you did do that.

Next time you get up, eat something. Screw “healthy,” just find something to put in your belly; I’d recommend keeping a stash of something that you know will be there if all else fails. Don’t try to cook – sometimes even the microwave is too much to deal with. On days like this having too many options or too many steps is only going to get you stuck. Find something you can open and eat.

The idea isn’t to try and make yourself feel “better” so much as to make the day a little more bearable.

So don’t choke down a salad or some cardboard-ass tasting protein bar if you don’t enjoy those things. Don’t punish yourself with things you “should” want. Don’t make some “happy thoughts” playlist to force on yourself when you’re drowning. Don’t force yourself to list things you’re grateful for and then feel like a shitty person when you realize you don’t feel grateful for anything right now.

Days like this suck giant hairy goat balls, and you don’t have to feel grateful. Don’t worry about trying to magically shift your mind into a better place. This isn’t a self-help problem. If you had the flu would you consider yourself a failure of a human being? Well, your brain has the flu.

Don’t punish yourself for being ill.

Don’t think “transform” or “fix”.

Think “be gentle.” Think “be kind.”

When you’re feeling better you can work on bigger changes. Like I said, there are things you can do that will help bad days like this come less often, and ways to support your body and mind to give you more resilience when they do come. Wellness is holistic and depends on the interaction of a lot of moving parts, some of which are beyond your control and many of which are not. But those are not concerns for the bad days themselves.

You can be as pissed at yourself as you want for putting off that flu shot, but once you’re actually sick your focus is no longer on prevention, but treatment.

You know those days will happen again – instead of living in constant dread, think of how you can prepare for them better, minimize their disruptive power. You probably can’t stop them, and even predicting them can be a fool’s errand, but you can prepare.

Remember: Kindness. How can you be just a little kinder to yourself on bad days?

Let’s not overcomplicate things – you don’t need some 5-step plan or even a plan, per se, at all; start with just one thing. Think of one thing you could do to make a bad day feel less awful. Wash your face. Put on warmer clothes. Light a stick of incense to make the room smell nicer.

Seem pointless? Look at it this way:

When you’re at your lowest, how do you feel? You feel abandoned, alone. Like the entire world and God above have all left you to bleed to death slowly in the corner of a cold, dark room. Worst of all you feel like you deserve it. Like there’s something so fundamentally broken about you that nothing good or loving should touch you.

Of course none of this is true. But it’s not logical thought that got you here and it’s not logical thought that will get you out. What you need is to feel loved in a way you can accept. We’re not talking hugs and therapy sessions. We’re talking a tiny concrete gesture that tells you, “I love you, and I will not abandon you.” Just a small something to get you through.

Sometimes just that one thing will start a chain reaction that will make a huge difference. Sometimes it won’t and you’ll just go back to bed. But the important thing is that you made it clear to yourself that you were worth caring for, and that you do care.

As they say, if you don’t think tiny things make a difference, try sleeping in a tent with a mosquito.

Buzz buzz buzz…
Love,
Me

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