Small Victories

I went to Michael's yesterday.

It was the first time in a long time where I went and did something I actually enjoy. I stopped counting how many times I picked up a pencil to draw and came up blank, or how many times I woke up in the middle of the night feeling like I slept but not being satisfied - or worse; knowing I didn't sleep and feeling satisfied by that. I don't know how long I've been laying here tonight, contimplating going back to sleep, or staying up to watch the sun rise while it's still in me to look for the glory of the new day, it all just feels so mind-numbingly dull and insufficient.

I couldn't tell you how long I have been battling this one-woman war with depression, but the nights feel long and the days feel longer.

Tonight's no different than any other night. I'm up, so I might as well write.

Yesterday afternoon, I sat down outside and started piecing together a Halloween-themed Bouquet, nothing special, just a neat little decrative piece that I put up on my dresser to admire. The pieces to my masterpiece of the macob was nothing shy of a pretty penny and it took me maybe a few hours to decorate. So I think it was worth the money.

In the last ten or so years, I've only ever created one other Halloween-themed vausse.

I think the first vausse is gone now.

I graduated from EOP three this past tuesday, which means no more intensive out-patient therapy for me for a while. I found it increasingly more helpful as the weeks bled into months as the year slowly came to a close. It's been almost five since I tried taking my own life, four since I had a stroke, and two years since moving back from Humboldt where I had lived for maybe nine months roughly as I adjusted to how quiet it was compared to the big city which didn't help much after my psychotic breaking point after the miscarriage I had in November of 2020, at that point I didn't even know I could have children.

I saw the apartment this past wednesday, fingers crossed, maybe I'll be moving out at the end of the year. Everything feels ready to feel for I just don't want to get my hopes up to high and get shot down if for shits and giggles, this apartment falls through. But I have been thinking about it for the last few days and the thought of piecing together my shattered start feels like a light I haven't seen since June of '22.

My psychiatrist appointment got cancelled, no big deal. I have medicine to get me through the end of the month, but the irritation wasn't fun to reground. I'm trying to get off Abilify.

I went to Spirit Halloween three weeks ago, when they first opened for the season and got a couple of things. Not for Halloween, but just me, because I had always found myself wrapped up in holiday, than any other holiday, including my birthday, and if and when I move out in the next two months, maybe just maybe these decorations will bring me comfort there like it has tried here.

I'm trying to keep up with the mess that's spilling into my hallway from the bathroom, but the thought of cleaning makes my teeth hurt.

We had a yard sale at the end of September, we made maybe $200? Nothing shy of $240, I got to sell some paintings I had done between 2021 and 2024, respectfully. I didn't make a whole lot of money, but that chapter in my life can come to a close softly because most of those paintings were for friends and family I never see anymore and I had stopped sending them out after I found a connection to what I was doing in a creepy last-supper/thirteen reasons why kind of way.

I kind of miss my best friend, it's been since the COVID-19 lockdown, but I still carry her friendship and support with me through everthing I have tried to do during this recovery period between my suicide attempt and moving.

My story got featured on the front page here on Vocal, eleven days ago. It was a pleasant surprise since quitting and coming back to the platform personally. I don't write short stories very often but this last month had been inspiring.