i… i am a dried up riverbed, burning alive in the heat of summer, as the crickets chirp, and the people laugh. eyes stained dark with wonder.

teeth long and crooked, voicebox trembling with strange, frantic desire. and what came first? the witch, or the pyre. how many more skeletons i can stuff in my closet, before they catch fire?

and i think that the animalistic shudder of your voice will always win. the endless hours stretch on, stained with pixelated colours, peeling skin…

and that familiar, acrid smoke. an age-old enemy; eyes soft and rosy with the aftertaste of thunder. his words a neverending din.

and maybe it’s self-care. but… maybe it’s just giving in.

I don’t really remember what I posted in quarantine, honestly those three months just felt like one big blur.

But if I was being honest, which I try my best to be on this blog, I would have told you about how much I was struggling to process all the things that were going on.

Throughout the lockdown, I was only able to keep myself out of a depressive episode by denying it was happening at all. I told myself that I was staying home because I wanted to. That my friends had left me, or moved away, or died. And over the months, they became little video game characters, dancing across my phone screen–weak imitations of what they used to be.

Was it great? No. But it was the only thing that got me through those four months without slipping into a really dark place–with no one there to help me see the light.

I told myself, then, that once this was all over, I would deal with it. I would sit down with my therapist, and let it all out, and I would give myself the time I needed to process from a safe distance.

But, I mean, you can only hold it in so long, I guess. Because that time I thought of in March… well, that time is now. I am more scared of COVID than I was during the actual lockdown, and whenever I hear about it on the radio I go into a panic. And it just… it all hits me at once; everything I held in back then.

I don’t know if I made the right decision. Or if, given the option, I would make it again. But… I do know that it feels like I’m drowning sometimes. Reliving it, a thousand times more terrifying than it actually was. And I don’t have a therapist to help anymore. I’m all on my own.

For better or for worse.

I go back to school tomorrow. (Tomorrow as I write this, today by the time you read this.) I’m in Canada, although to be honest with you the whole reopening plan for regular school seems iffy at best. But because I do my work via a computer, and I can set my own hours for how much I want to go into school, I’m not too worried–you have to sanitize your hands before going into the computer lab, everything is socially distanced, and honestly it’s sounding pretty great from my perspective. I mean, if I have the option to share a computer lab with the only other person who signed up, and never have to get within twenty feet of them, I am down for that. Still a bit nervous though, to be honest–because change is scary. Because facing this stuff is scary. (Also, yes, that is why there weren’t as many posts this week!)

But I know that… sometimes, the thing you’re afraid of is a lot more dangerous in your mind than it is in the reality. That sometimes, when you face it, it’s not really as bad. That living with anxiety is facing your fears every single day. I’ve done it before, and I will do it again.

Lots of love.


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