On Depression And Mail

I am going to the post office tomorrow.

Sometimes you wake up and you're different and it is okay.

I started saying that a few months ago, not really understanding why, but over and over again, people around me keep saying things like "you're different" or "your light is dim" and I don't know why, but I supposed maybe I am a little bit different.

I know it's important to keep my body moving and to keep creating art when I'm down. And I couldn't tell you why I came back to Kansas, but I did because I guess something in my heart knew that I needed to be home for a little bit.

Depression to me is like being the star in a show that is coming to the end of its last season. It is the flyer on the back of a bathroom stall with warning signs. It is eating only roasted things because a body feels precarious. It is being sorry that I am not a warmer thing for others, but not knowing how to get the warmth back.

I want to be five. I want to believe in Santa Claus. I want to have never had my first kiss.

I want to dance. To take a really long walk to a diner to have one coffee and then leave.

I want to see all of my friends who have died, or decided to be done with me, one last time.

I want to say hello to the entire world, as we pass each other on the sidewalk, and keep going, to nowhere in particular.

Tomorrow, I am finally going to mail those depop packages.