Clementine

Our little house. There are some things I love terribly about it. One being the way the kitchen looks in the afternoon sun. It glows and sparkles (well as much as an unfixed-fixer-upper can sparkle) and is as hot as a steam room.

Things change, they turn and twist around me and suddenly I have energy, suddenly feel less pining-board depressed. But then to figure, ponder and figure, what to do with yourself when you are feeling better. This is the tricky thing. I don't know what I want, I don't know who I am. I feel empty in a new way. I feel mournful for what could have been, for all the time I've lost and will lose because of my black bile demon. I'm scared of when he will leave and when he will come back. In some ways I'm scared of losing him because I don't know how to live without him. I do know, and know very well, how to live as a depressed person. Now to learn to live as a full person. Then to remember that it will come back--and I have to learn to live with that, the fact that I will never be in remission from this curse. There may come a time when it is under control, but never a time when it is gone, when I can truly let my guard down.