Blue, blue, my world is blue.

Hello, loverfaces.

These last several months have been a clusterfuckery of epic proportions, although my perspective is obviously 1000% biased.

The last half of summer and the beginning of autumn were jam-packed with life lessons, bouts of depression, and more than one situation that seemed a hell of a lot like it was much too difficult and painful to live through, let alone deal with.

I wore a blanket of numbing sadness, wandering through my days listlessly. I felt so full of Nothing (so full and simultaneously so empty) that I despaired of feeling any other feelings ever again. I believed a lot of bullshit because it seemed so entirely true. I doubted myself in so many different ways. I re-lived bad choices I’ve made, terrible things I’ve gone through, and all the mistakes I could remember making. I drowned in my sadness. My fear was overwhelming.

I’m not writing this to tell you I’m totally fine, because I’m not.

But I did keep waking up every morning, and I did take showers even though being alone in the hot running water made me want to sob until my soul shattered into pieces. I did hug my children and ask about their homework. I did ask for help, and take my vitamins, and I drank water and I ate food.

I bought school supplies and took pictures of my kids on their first day of school. I took my littlest to the zoo, just the two of us. I did my work, sometimes only a few minutes of it a day, but all the same I did it. I did SOMETHING. I managed not to suck as badly as I thought I did.

After weeks of blue-ness, the fog began to lift, just a bit. I started to remember who I was, which is who I had been the whole time. I remembered that depression does not break me. It doesn’t mean that I am less a person than I used to be.

I found myself through dealing with difficulty, when one particularly nasty financial problem showed up and smacked me right in the head and I was forced to be a grownup and face a scary, consequence-laden thing I’d been running from for seven years.

I found myself through owning up to my old stories about pain, and money, and responsibility; and through the gift of seeing, loving and understanding the part of me that had been protecting the rest of me from all the things I didn’t know how to handle since I was a little kid.

I found myself through the eyes of the therapist from community mental health, who comes to our apartment on Tuesdays and talks to my youngest and to me. She saw me and everything I deal with, and all the things I’m trying so hard to get right, and it all became a little less of a burden because of her compassion.

I found myself through the love and open arms of my boyfriend, my mother, my sister, my boyfriend’s mother, my children, my dearest friends online and off.

There is a lot more I want to write about the worst days, because I know so many of us deal with this and live with it and try to keep ourselves sane while we’re crying and cooking dinner or crying and driving the car or crying and writing or just fucking crying. And then crying some more, or maybe not crying at all because the pain in your chest and the lump in your throat are actually too big for the tears to come out, which just makes it hurt worse.

I want to write about waking up in the morning and feeling the tears well up again, having hoped that today would have been a good day, knowing that now I have to pull myself through it until bedtime and try not to be the worst mom ever, but all I really want to do is lay back down and cry myself to sleep.

But, even though I’ve managed to write this much so far, I don’t really know how to write more than that. It’s still with me, even though I know I am okay and I will continue to be okay.

One day last week, Nick said something funny, which is something he does a lot because he’s fucking hilarious, and I actually laughed. I felt the joy leap in my heart and my face crinkled up into a real smile, and audible laughter vibrated in my chest. And then I knew I was really going to be okay.

I don’t have anything else to say except I love you, and if you’re blue too, my darling, I understand. Here is a safe place to cry and be comforted.

This post originally published at – it has been lightly edited.

Rhiannon Kelley
Stargazer, medium, druid, student. Activist & rabble-rouser. Married with four kids. Really fucking sweary. Genderqueer & poly. They/them/theirs.

Leave a Reply