back in the 120's

I've lost over 10 pounds.

Took this shot when I was trying to do a decent self-portrait. They say artists do self-portraits out of narcissism and that's probably true for over half the cases. In this case, I just needed to take a good look at myself. I needed to get out of my own head and see myself as candidly as possible through an objective lens. So I set the camera up to take random shots while I walked back and forth in front of it and stripped.

What did I learn?

I'm starting to scare myself. Depression used to be comfortable. I used to juice misery for every last drop of feeling I could, I would feed my art with it like breastmilk. I'd waste grey days caged in my room semi-watching TV until I was called down for dinner, then I'd spend the rest of the evening musing with Moncho over tea. I would throw myself into some dead-end affair just to push myself that much deeper into my self-loathing, wait for hickies to fade off my skin like I was regaining some salvaged semblance of purity with patience and the risk of getting reamed out by Mom if she found them.

But this sadness feels like a panic attack. There's nothing languorous or caramelly about it. It's palpitations. It's shortness of breath when I'm at work taking calls. It's a choke hold on my arteries. It's a string of endless hours uncut by the respite of real rest. It's accidentally walking into transparent panes of emotion. It's tears falling at embarrassing times, like in the middle lunch. It's my flesh evaporating into the cold Canadian air.

Thanks for the kind words, everyone. I'm sorry I haven't really been in touch; I'm working on climbing out of this hole and it's all just a little harder than I expected. I'll get there ra lagi. Eventually, the whining has to end.

So how've you been?