The Truth About Isolation

It's made me realize how important it is to just talk. And to do it face to face. To feel safe. To know there's zero judgment. To actually look into someone's eyes and know without a doubt that they're listening with every fiber of their being.

As Loss

Depression is more like grief. It's a crushed feeling. A grinding into dust. A shattering. A grating apart like flour forced through a sifter. A parasitic tapeworm of the soul. A weight on my chest, so heavy I can hardly breathe, producing the panic of an asthma attack, as if I am about to die.

The Shape of Gratitude

Gratitude is never first on the scene. Like anger, it's a reaction only, more often a choice, and when consistently pursued, a habit. Like other emotions, it's a fuel. But unlike depressive states, it's not a fuel that burns me down to ashes, it's a fuel that drives me forward. It's flexible to any kind of attack, has no end, and it can roll any which way. Like a sphere, I suppose. Love is also like that. To me, gratitude in the midst of my circumstances, no matter what they are, is an expression of love toward my God; an unwritten love letter lived out.

The Dog and the Hound

Strands of keratin. They slide between my fingers and I think-- Where were we, Love, when this small space at the end of the lengths were new, emerging like buds of Spring from scalp and skin?