It’s the start of fall squash season and I’m still suicidally depressed. I still wake up crying most days. Today I have two butternut and two acorn squash to cook for lunch/dinner at work, and I’m still crying.
I feel like I’m trapped in one very painful moment in time while the world moves through at normal speed.
For every recurrence of depression in adults, it gets harder to treat.
I haven’t found a medicine that makes these days bearable.
I have a posted of Georgia O’Keeffe’s Brooklyn bridge hanging on my walls, along with all my other queer paraphernalia. My cat is showing me all of his toe beans.
I am still crying but I have squash to cook.