Do you ever feel that you’ve given all you can to life and gotten everything from it that it could possibly give? That every day feels so painfully the same that there’s no real reason to keep facing them? It’s washed through me sometimes. It seeps in unexpectedly, pours through, and sucks out all my proper perspective with it, until I’m empty. The flood is called depression. I’m luckier than
The zen-mastering of my home is still going splendidly, or rather, the zen-mastering of my soul. The day after I wrote the blog post I shredded one million old bills that were sitting in a plastic bag waiting for such. And by shredded I mean manually tore into little pieces with my own bare hands. Another day I threw into recycling stacks of coloring pages and class work from years
So, Mom says I’m facing a post-traumatic cloud. I have this tiredness that’s not so much physical as emotional. I’m tired in my soul. And while some troubling things just don’t matter at all after facing such an enormous trial, other tiny ones seem monstrous – like if the laundry piles up or I face more than one day in a row in which I can’t find time to create.