After a strange many months of feeling somewhat sorry for myself, I've snapped out of it. Snapped, I suppose, isn't the right word, as my departure from depression was very conscious.
What was I upset about to begin with? I felt cursed- homeless, in a way. I no longer felt as though I belonged to NY- I was, except for freelance and the book, unemployed. I felt this pressure to be somewhere else- someone else. I watched married friends and wondered if I had missed my chances for happiness. I was down on myself for not yet having finished the book. I thought I was a loser for still needing roommates. I let myself get wrapped up with people who gave me next to nothing (despite me being there for them).
A couple of days ago, my attitude shifted. I wrote down the things that were troubling me, and saw that they're not as bad as I had thought. I've had a year to devote to my kid, to my writing, to figuring out what's important. I've come up with answers. I know exactly what I want. A year ago I wasn't so sure.
I start a three-month full-time gig on Monday. Not my dream job, but not a bad job, either. I'm hoping it leads to other situations. I've been told the prospects of this happening are good.
I am nearly done with the book. I know I will finish it. I am excited to have other projects in various states of completion, ready to work on when I've passed along the book for the final time. I'm entering chapters into various contests. Two days ago I made out a time table for when everything needs to be sent off. It felt good.
I examined the relationships around me, and realized that most of them aren't my cup of tea. I'm pretty independent. I can't deal with the bitchy words many couples share. Seeing it happen grates on me- I feel embarrassed when occasionally I see friends fall into this behavior. Lately, I was acting slightly like this- not in a relationship, but in a friendship that had become complicated. I had been hurt by this friend, you see, and instead of giving myself space from the situation and then taking control of it, I let myself get so wrapped up in it that I made myself miserable. I've since removed the complications, and, voila, I'm not feeling weird or bitchy at all. I'm feeling like... myself.
Today, I count my blessings. I have two amazing roommates- they care for me and my kid- it is clear. I have a beautiful family. I'm not homeless. The things that were making me think this thought are out of my control, so I need to let them go. I have a home. I AM my home. My body, as they say, is a temple. I will treat it as such. And my mind is a gift. I will love it- I will cherish the freedom I feel when I use my imagination. Sartre once said, "you are condemned to freedom." Ha!