That’s how I choose to think about it. An old friend. Not because I particularly like its company, but because I would struggle to know who I was without it. You don’t get over it so much as manage it. Managing it is probably not an accurate term. It makes it sound like you are in control, when really a good management strategy just gives you enough momentum to survive a trough.
I don’t see much of it anymore because I climbed back from the abyss through a combination of bad writing, days of wallowing, days of frenetic exercise, alphabetising books, alphabetising CDs, moving furniture and when all else failed I stared at myself in the mirror and told myself that it was just a day, it wasn’t my whole damn life. And I ignored everyone who ever asked me the question: what do you have to be depressed about? Because there was no reason and that’s kind of the point.
But lately I’ve started to notice that every month, although I’ve never really been one to get PMS, I get really anxious. And the anxiety feeds on itself, because it’s not about anything. Everything is on edge and I can’t relax and I just can’t shake the feeling deep down in my body that something is very, very wrong. But of course, it isn’t. It’s the anxiety rearing its ugly head. And it’s when that happens that I would like to be entirely not myself for awhile. A holiday from me sounds like an excellent plan.
At least I don’t have to talk to myself in the mirror anymore.
This face in the morning usually does the trick.

My name is Zoey. 






























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