By Mrs. Messiness, on April 7th, 2009%
“I am prone to depression”.
No.
“Sometimes I get depressed”.
No.
“I struggle with dep-” No.
“Depression has always been a-” No, that’s stupid.
I never talk about it except to my husband, and even that is new. Before him, the only time I came close to discussing it was if someone demanded that yes-I-did remember that-one-time that-one-thing happened, and I have . . . → Read More: Emerging
By Mrs. Messiness, on March 24th, 2009%
I know you are terrified. I know its scary and hard and you are alone. You want it to be over quickly and quietly, and you want to feel in control of this situation. You figure this is the only option and no one can tell you any differently; they don’t get it. They don’t know . . . → Read More: The letter that no one wrote, years ago
By Mrs. Messiness, on March 13th, 2009%
I try so hard to keep painful things tied up in pretty packages. I smash them and squeeze them and force them into tiny corners of imaginary boxes and then try to cover them in the colors of strong and brave and better-than and eventually I can convince myself that they no longer exist . . . → Read More: And they all fall down.