A good damn line.

Stopped at Wawa for a coffee and a pre-made breakfast sandwich. When my card was declined twice, two separate people in line leapt forward to say “I got it.” Now that’s a good damn line.

big ugly nuts.

It was my first winter in Key West and by this time I had my bearings. I had the public resources mastered and a shady location to park and sleep in peace. I had a key card for the bathroom of a fancy hotel, and it was my favorite location to take a shit. The sinks were gold and the stalls were large. Best of all there was almost never any traffic. That is until the day I learned the design drawbacks of a black marble floor. As I sat on the can, the door burst open and a man rushed to the urinal while opening his pants like a barn door. On the floor directly in front of my stall, framed neatly in the space below the door, was a crystal clear reflection focused straight up under his big ugly nuts. I’ve never seen anything like it before or since.

about the electricity I felt when we touched.

It's June and everything is roses. How do you feel about that? When asked "how are you" I need to gauge my response because sometimes "excellent!" is too much. When appropriate, I chisel it down to a "great." I am cashing the checks and not asking questions; riding this wave to the crash.

Today I am imbued with the heat of the sun, but in similar circumstances we have been carved out hollow with limbs of dangling chain. It's chemicals and curiosity. If you look at us all and wonder, at most you'll see patterns, but conclusions and certainty are unicorns and grains of sand. The whims we are victim to are not seen in true form, and control is an illusion born from our misunderstandings about the nature of time.

If I speak vaguely in this manner, I hope you will relate. I am editing this carefully to cultivate connection. I am clicking and clicking and hoping for a spark. I want us to compare notes fluidly like when rain hits a lake - I want to pull out my guts and put them on your plate. I want to listen carefully when one of us shares, to catch a glimpse of the invisible threads which connect us, bind us, and pull us apart.

What I don't want is money or security, but I chase it like a deranged imbecile. "Just enough" is what we tell ourselves - as though the disease is desirable and we are in control. Almost nothing scares me anymore. An acute lack of certainty no longer causes vertigo so much as a deep exhaustion never to be slept off. Go outside and play.

I am on this planet to goof around, and my greatest disservice will be to have not goofed enough.

looking for places where I am supposed to be.

I woke up from the yearly depression ten days ago. There's been many centimeters of rain, and I never like the moist way we do it here, but these rains are the ones who signal the leaves what to do. 

The birds have been noising again, and I can hear the frogs again. The window is almost always full-open when this begins. The lights are an impossible god.

I joined the local makerspace in Wilmington. There is a fully functioning and completely equipped woodshop. I would type that sentence twice, but it barely matters. I found a home, I think. I am supposed to be there, I think.

I am looking for places where I am supposed to be.

Forks in trees.

I can't say what I see and how I feel. To do that with accuracy would sound grandiose. The use of 'grandiose' alone is the wrong shade of paint. Sunlight. Forks in trees.

The first time in many years.

First bicycle ride of the season. First bicycle ride in more than six months. My yellow-crated machine cruised slowly along the familiar roads beside the creek. On the first hill, the front derailer needed sneaker-assistance to drop to the small chainring for the first time in many years.

Try not to be a piece of shit.

I bought fifty bucks of 2x3s and now I'm listening pretty loud to the Dilly Dally live at SXSW set that i've been loving for a few years. I'm fifteen bucks worth of 2x3s short for the lumber rack i'm trying to slap together. I'm sorry, they/them are trying to slap together. What I meant to say is we/wham. Ah, fuckit, just try to be nice to people, and try not to be a piece of shit to them.

I'm going to make it work.

The garage has been a disaster forever. After my dad died, me and mom drove home in the middle of the night, leaving professionals to do whatever has to be done with bodies that are dead. We pulled into a garage full of two motorcycles, two Vespas, a trailer stacked with shit nobody wants to deal with, and shelves and cabinets packed with baggage of every kind. 

I'd like to end it there. 

Two years and something have gone by, and we got the motorcycles and Vespas out of there. And the trailer, and the stupid convertible are gone. It felt like it took forever, but now that stuff is gone. I poked at some of it with screwdrivers and wrenches, and tried my best to get good prices and make sure the vultures knew to fuck right off.

I've successfully taken one person's consumerism bullshit horde, and turned it into a new bullshit horde of my own. Finally there's a bandsaw. Either last month or tomorrow, I'm going to make it work.

The sum total of today.

Got a bacon bbq burger at Wawa and sat in the parking lot listening to NPR. Never seems to be a happy story out of those people. It's the station of breaking news about the fucking over of the defenseless, but it's the most consistent squawk on the dial, and aux-in has been broken for as long as I can remember. 

Wawa has burgers now. I had to pinch the patty to confirm that they'd done something to heat it up. Confirmed. It was slightly warmer than ambient temperature. Aside from puking, sweating, and watching shit on Netflix, that was the sum total of today.

What we are all doing.

Yes, yes, yes, I'm here. I can hear the frogs chirping in the pond which isn't far from the window in the room where I'm sitting on a mattress on a floor.

My name is Pixy now. Part of that is because it is an objectively better name, and I guess partly just to mix it up and see who blinks. Genderfluid they/them.

I'm $8000 in debt, but I have stocks worth like $30,000 that aren't convenient to sell to cover the cost of all the woodworking tools and alcohol I bought during covid. The plan is to sell books online to fix the problem, but really I'm waking up from smoking a half ounce of weed while binging Narcos for a week.

I got a lot of money from the covid shit and claiming self employed. Which, yeah, pretty much self employed.

Now it's time to march forward like a moron which is what we are all doing.

Daydreaming about engineering and water witchery

I'm fine, it's the seasonal depression that's hurting me. I'm still able to communicate with reality, but through a thick damp mist. Not drinking, but didn't quit. Smoking it up pretty good these days.

Here's what's going on. 

I'm daydreaming obsessively about gears and welding. I like to believe that my imagination is able to keep realistic physics in mind as I combine parts and build machines in my head. But imagination may not be enough anymore. I got some books on mechanical engineering - an older edition of a textbook that a student would use in an intro class, a book to dumb down the concepts to simple math, and another book that is specifically targeted at designing gear trains, and seeks to explain the more complex equations to "give a richer understanding" of the systems described within. If I can read some of that stuff and buy a MiG welder, maybe I'll make something. 

I'm thinking a lot about plastic recycling, and how the way we're doing it is illogical and inefficient in a way which almost stupefies the mind. I know what I would change and how, but I can't put the full force of my efforts into it right now. There isn't much of me to go around, and I am spread thin before I can even put on my pants. Big ideas, little to show. Desperate for a breakthrough.

I'm learning how to use spreadsheet formulas to sort data and reveal items that I can buy and then sell at a profit. This is what I'm currently most invested in emotionally as well as financially. I'm trying to get good at spreadsheets so I can use that skill to strike it rich. I do mean that I am literally attempting to find a way to "strike it rich" and I think I am plausibly capable of succeeding in that goal. Knowing how to get data from an API would be a big help. I barely know what that means, but I have to figure out how to communicate with a database. Oof. I'm trying to make this spreadsheet into a forked stick which I can wield like the water witch of profitable leads.

I'm not doing so well. I'm not doing so bad. That stuff is what I am doing.

Fight and nonsense left in me.

The best thing I can do for myself is to ride a bicycle. Once again, I took several months off. I was on sabbatical. Drinking a lot and waking up past noon. Got a nice new bong, but that's just bragging. 

During the month of August I got freshly excited about bicycles, and fortunately for me this coincided with a lot of money coming in from self-employed pandemic unemployment. Wow, they dumped a lot of money on me. I bought bicycle parts, a bong, and a new laptop that I'm typing on right now. I also paid off my credit card, which shouldn't have had a balance anyway (whoops), AND saved enough money to do another Trans-USA bicycle tour in 2021, variables permitting. ALL GOOD.

I gained 30+ pounds since this time last year by being a loaf and pounding down chips and wine. That'll do for awhile, but now I'm trying to reverse the tide. A bunch of other variables play into what-all I've been up to, but for the sake of simplicity, here's where it stands: I stopped riding my bicycle, now I am riding my bicycle again.

I'm still tired. I rode my regular loop earlier, and I'm starting to feel my body come back online after dormancy. That pandemic money also afforded me a Wahoo Roam GPS bicycle computer, and I can report that it is a device which enhances ride enjoyment. I get to race against my former faster self during sections of the rides which I revisit regularly. It's fun to get my ass kicked by myself while I'm out there by myself.

This bicycle I'm riding... a bicycle I only finished assembling for myself about a week ago... is excellent. I built up this one, and re-worked my Roberts road bicycle as well. I have other bicycles and projects in addition to that, but it's too much for the purview of this update, the purpose of which is to simply demonstrate that I am alive and I still have a little bit of fight and nonsense left in me.

Checking in

Checking in. Doing fine. Hard to know what to report when everything is in flux. Hard to know what variables are important - which changes might be important later in life. I'm seeing a new person, and it's going really well. I'm working on finding the right combination and dosage of medications to do... better. I'm still looking at improving my sewing skills as a bridge toward a different and better future. I'm currently freshly obsessed with bicycles, and trying to get more of my projects into an operational mode.

Living with my mom has been nice and pleasant and easy. We get along well, and we both have plenty of space in this big house. I'm trying something new. I've been transforming the room where I sleep into a place that is mine - making it match my style and what I want. In past times, I have always been too distracted with planning my next escape, leaving no time to arrange my surroundings to fit me, because what is the point if I'm just going to leave again? This time I am here for awhile, and for now this room is mine. 

In the same vein, I've set up another room as a big sewing room for me and mom. I built new tables with insets for our main sewing machines, and I built dedicated tables for cutting and ironing. I've been too distracted with bicycles to use and appreciate the sewing room, but the day is coming soon, and the room is very ready.

I have too much to share about thoughts and the specifics of the projects I've been working on. Maybe I'll get to that soon. At the heart of it all, I know that I am still just a little bit crazy, and I will probably always be searching for a way to fit myself into the framework. 

Sewing a handlebar bag

@pixie_morningdust:

Projects; none in particular.

I have a lot of cold irons that fell out of the fire. I'm going to stick around Pennsylvania for awhile, and see if I can heat up some projects and ideas. Living with my mom has been great. Slowly but surely I am floating to the surface; grasping reality once again. Bullshit! I am, however, having fun.

Some shit I've been up to:

1) I recently started paying attention to my book selling business again. I need money to do cool shit and stop being scared of running out of money. I'm going to sell books online. I'm really good at it. Problem solved.

2) Last night a person who I've been seeing, Laura, stayed over. I drank a bunch of chardonnay out of a box, and then manically proceeded to show her my condiment packet collection as it currently stands. I have disorganized boxes of packets, and unopened correspondence dating back to 2016. We opened the letters, and I semi-organized my inbox. I had about 25 unopened submissions which included some incredible condiment packets from around the world. What a relief it is to take stock and know where I stand with the collection. Now that I am living at the headquarters of The Condiment Packet Gallery for the foreseeable future, I intend to make an update to the website soon - condimentpacket.com

3) Me and mom joined a quilting club called "Quilts for Kids." We went to our first meeting and it was great. I met a person named Marge who is active and interested in every imaginable aspect of textile arts. We talked for more than an hour. I had many questions, and Marge had many stories and ideas. There were maybe a dozen people at the meeting, and I feel comfortable there. I want to make friends who use sewing machines, and everybody in attendance absolutely does.

4) I am designing and building a living space in Kennett. I am attempting to create a small sewing studio where I also sleep. I bought a queen sized mattress that folds up. I make my bed in the morning by folding up the mattress so it doesn't take up over a third of the entire available square footage of floor space. When I get sleepy, I unfold the mattress. The mattress is on the floor, and that is how I like it.

This is a good time in my life. When I arrived back in Pennsylvania, my brain was bashed apart. Sometimes I am worried about the tenuous relationship we have with the universe - feet on the ground; heads in the stars - it can stretch and pull a person impossibly thin. Recently, I have found comfort in the advice of Pema Chodron to embrace impermanence. Right now my thinking is that I would love to live with my mom in Kennett and stop thinking about other geographical locations. If I can walk slowly through the small daily tasks to reach intermediate and long-term goals, I can resume travel in a year. But Chris... if you are reading this a year from now or more... I hope you are calm, and I hope you are excited to be alive, or maybe about a project in particular.

Dad died.

My dad died on his birthday. October 11th. I was lucky to be home. I was home in time to go to the hospital and say goodbye. I was able to hold his hand while he was still lucid. He didn't suffer for a long time. Watching somebody fade away from life isn't easy, but in this case it was as painless as such a thing is ever likely to be. I'm thankful for that. I'm also thankful that my sister stepped up to write the eulogy. She did a great job. A lot of people showed up to the funeral. My dad was a well-loved guy. He made a lot of people laugh. He was always joking, and he passed that down to me.

My thoughts at the moment.

The feeling of panic won't stop. That's not true. I get little breaks here or there. If I'm talking to a friend, or riding a bicycle, or drinking - I might get a pause. Drinking isn't good though, 'cause now it can also make things worse. So I'm trying to keep that in check. I'm taking that drug, Effexor, which is supposed to kick in after taking it for weeks. But I think the bulk of this panic is situational - breakup combined with being back in Pennsylvania, as unsure about what I am doing as ever before, and now yet another year older.

I want to be a good girl for somebody. I had that. A lot of the other parts of the relationship were a mismatch, but I loved being somebody's girlfriend. I'm told that can happen again. I don't want to look for it. I can't stand this dating stuff. I get way too close way too fast. I am blinded by the positives, and I ignore the feeling in my chest that tells me it isn't a good match. I don't trust myself.

Like a classic complete idiot, I tried to text or email Chance a few times. The way it ended, it seemed like friendship might be possible. I thought we were both sad, but on the same page, acknowledging that we have differences, and it would be best to part ways. Then Chance let me have it. They texted a good solid list of everything I did wrong, and what the DSM would medically diagnose as being wrong with me. I said I would look into it, apologized, and promised not to contact them again. Borderline personality disorder? Sure, some of the symptoms have a ring of truth, but it isn't a fit. I don't torpedo relationships. For the most part, I am healthy in that regard. And I hold hate for nobody. Emotionally abusive? Probably. I don't do well under pressure, and I get defensive. When I speak precisely, I sound like an asshole, while I am only trying to select words carefully. There's no malice. I try to communicate appropriately, but I get frustrated, and I fall short. I was a total dick more than a few times. Always sorry, but still a total dick.

What I need to do is stop replaying all of these thoughts on repeat. I try to practice mindfulness, and it is nearly impossible. The thoughts keep on cycling. I can only get brief moments of peace. At least I am glad that I'm trying. I probably care way too much about what people think of me. I try hard to live by a personal code of ethics. But the fact is, people misunderstand each other, and relationships are difficult. Over the past few years, I haven't had a good track record. Three people who I've become very close with have either cut me out of their lives, or I had to stop talking to them. I don't do well when that happens. I am not doing well right now.

What I'd like to do is approach my situation systematically - focusing on one step at a time. I have the exact same goals and ideas as one year ago before I moved to Austin for the second time. I feel like I have made zero progress. I have nothing to show for it. Maybe I need to make a third attempt to reach the same goals. Maybe it will just take me years rather than months to figure out where my place is, and what my simple sustainable life might look like. I want to find that life and stop moving around so much. I want to feel happy where I am. I almost had that in Austin, and then I got into a relationship. There were some positives about that relationship, but if I'm being honest with myself, I know I should have ended it much sooner. But I let myself fall in love. I completely surrendered. I tried to let myself get swept into somebody else's life and reality at the expense of my own sense of self. I am still coming back to my own personal reality. I hope I learned something.

I know what I want. I want to find a way to make money with sewing in any capacity. I want to stop selling books, and switch to sewing. I want to find a partner who rides bicycles and laughs. I want a partner who has an adventurous spirit. I can compromise a great deal, but for once I want to make sure the fundamentals are in place before I practically get married, and then bail out, leaving massive double heartache in my wake. I'd like to quit packing up my van and running away from shit. I want to belong to community. I want to get my meds sorted out, and have good helpful therapy. I want to continue practicing mindfulness, and feel connected to the earth spiritually on a more regular basis. I want to be satisfied with where I stand in the present.

Everything I want seems simple and possible. I believe I will find my place geographically and in spirit. Above all, I simply want peace. I am a wreck.

Good things that happened since leaving Chicago.

So yeah, shit feels pretty generally fucked up right now. And I like to type all about things that make me feel fucked up, 'cause I think maybe it's relatable, or maybe I just want to write it down, so I can crumble it up into a little ball and flush it down the toilet. So my writing is infused with all sorts of negative thoughts, when in reality I'm living a pretty sweet life. Sure, I am at a particularly low point right now, but good things still happen. Ask anybody who rides a bicycle: everything isn't all bad.

So let me think of some good shit that's been happening since I packed up my van and drove away from Chicago.

Bicycling.
First thing I was able to get myself to do is ride a bicycle. Haven't been doing that nearly enough, that's for sure. I looked up the Bike Kennett schedule on FarceBook, and decided to go on the Monday ride. I texted my friend, Diana, who goes on some of the rides, and she suggested we meet before the ride. The Monday ride is for beginners, which we are not, so we planned to ride some extra miles with hills. I met up with my Hoopty, which is my only current operational bicycle, but fuckit that's the one I love. I wore my first and favorite skirt that I got in Austin. Diana wore some flashy gold sparkle bike shorts. All told, it was pretty hot stuff.

I can't figure out what people think about me. I know some people like me, but are they interested in me? I thought I could sense interest last summer when we went on rides together, but I also couldn't be sure if Diana thought I was gay. I mean... I tried to explain myself a couple times, but I'm not sure my words translate. She knows I had a wife. But on the question of whether I was into guys or girls, I paused. The answer is girls, but it's a little more nuanced than that. And when it comes to pronouns, you can just assume that you're going to confuse people. Maybe I should have simply explained that I am a shy submissive genderqueer anal slut, who also likes traditional values and vanilla sex. Instead I left it vague.

Deciding to put aside for the moment that I can't stand gender norms, especially when it applies to dating, I determined that it would be a good idea to be a little bit more direct and just ask her out on a date. I have absolutely no business dating anybody right now - being that I am crushed inside - but I didn't let that stop me. So a couple days after that ride, I texted in the morning asking if she'd like to go to dinner with me next week. The response? "Of course!"

It's hard to misconstrue what that means. Asking somebody to dinner is a date, right? I still had my doubts. First of all, she started beginning all of her texts with "friend" and further, though polite about it, I don't think she really understands queerness, or at least my specific brand of it. Whatever. I could clarify at dinner. Secondly, and perhaps more important, Diana is way out of my league. Her family has horses, and she hangs out with people whose shirts have buttons up the front. She has a career. I can't compete with that. You'd have to reeeeeeally be into me. Which is technically possible, because I happen to be cool as fuck. But it's still a stretch.

Well, dinner got downgraded to lunch. When she sat about 75 feet away from me, I began feeling more confident that I was correctly reading vibes. That's ok, because I like Diana, and it was beneficial for me simply to get out of the house. Plus, I'd never asked anybody to dinner before, and now I have - so practice. I did still want to be direct, so when it seemed appropriate in the flow of conversation, I admitted that I had attempted to ask her on a date. For some people this might cause an awkwardness, but I am fucking awesome, so it was not a big deal. The answer, which I was already almost sure of, is that she wants to hang out as friends.

I don't want to actually date. I just crave affection. If somebody would hold me, or rub my back, it would work wonders for my emotional pain right now. On the car ride back to the house, I filled Diana in on some of the details of my recently ended relationship, just to confirm that we had absolutely no common ground other than bicycling. And maybe a little bit of mutual attraction, honestly I have no idea. But she didn't know what pegging is, so that's not a very good start.

Hiking.
I went hiking with my friend Rochelle. We met on a platonic friend app years ago, because 1) I was lonely, and 2) We have a lot in common. Rochelle is an important friend. She introduced me to the term genderqueer, which is important, being that it describes me, so I should know about it. We've had some deep conversations and gotten to know each other pretty well on our hikes and over long hours of texting.

There is no need for secrets, so we can really open up about our lives. There are fewer boundaries than with some of my other less open friends. I suppose I push those boundaries, since I have a general tendency toward oversharing, but I think it has been mutually beneficial. I love Rochelle like a sibling. She calls me sibs sometimes, and it makes me feel warm and connected. None of this is to mention that every time we get together, there are going to be some pretty seriously hard laughs.

I'm a failure at planning and organizing. Rochelle knows all the hikes. All I had to do was show up at her house, and she picked a place for us to go. Getting outside is medicine. We went for a long walk in the woods and talked. We got to a riverbank with tons of flat stones, and skipped them across the water. The value of this is hard to overstate. It took a difficult anxiety-ridden day, and made it livable, and even enjoyable. Then she got me pizza and showed me the crafty projects she is working on. What would I have done otherwise? I'd have sat around broken and brain-fucked. Instead, I healed a little bit. I looked up through the trees and saw light filtering down. I am alive, and I will stay that way for awhile.

Saw my ex-wife.
Kristin thinks I should cut my hair. Nobody is going to want to have sex with me if I don't clean up my look. That's what she thinks. I'm dubious. I think my winning personality actually goes a long way. But I'm willing to listen, because our brains work in a similar way, and I trust her insight. Yesterday was rough. I didn't quite manage to leave the house, and in fact I was barely able to get up off the bed. I binge watched Netflix shows, and stared off into space. I finally mustered the courage to begin a profile on FetLife, and I texted her to see if she'd friend me and tell me what I'm doing wrong. She is well equipped to tell you what you are doing wrong. She used to draw a web comic called "This is What's Wrong With You."

Kristin is doing a lot better, I think. She's dating two or three people in some polyamory deal where they all date each other and it's somehow pretty much fine. It was nice to see her again, and her tiny dog Daisy who I absolutely miss and love. We caught up. She had some sound advice about love and sex and anxiety and ADHD medications. She has experience and perspective, and I either trust her judgement, or at least am willing to consider it. When it comes to makeup, she knows her stuff, and she showed me a few ideas that might assist me in feeling and looking more comfortably femme. She also thinks my hair and clothing are an issue - I'll explore what she's talking about, and see how it makes me feel. I self-identify as kind of a bum, and she says that's going to keep me from getting laid. I don't think I have the emotional strength to think about it much right now, but I do have a great fashion ally if and when the time comes.

In conclusion.
Everything doesn't suck. I have a good support network. I'm getting up and getting outside. I'm healing. I hung out with my friends Kat and Drew. They understand kink issues, and they tell me they love me and how happy they are to see me again. Kat made dinner, and we had a good time sitting around a fire. I went to a show in Philly with Shelly, and we got to talk and catch up. It was a good show, and I saw others who I knew. The anxiety was fresh and potent that night, but I managed to wear a pink polkadot skirt on Girard Avenue, and weather the storm with music. I face-timed with Mike until 4am one night. I'm going to a birthday thing for Kyler tomorrow to see Philly bicycle friends, and I'm going to hike for ten days on the Appalachian Trail with Jonas starting on October 1st. In short, yes I am a lucky person, and yes I will survive.

Love,
Chris

Picking gravel out of my skin.

I tried to hold on for dear life.
Eventually, it was too much, and I slipped.
I fell to the road surface, my body rolled; skidded to a stop.
Covered in cuts and bruises, I laid there for a minute.
Then I stood up and began to walk.
After a few miles, I stuck out my thumb.

Back in Pennsylvania

I still exist. I broke up with my human partner because I felt like I knew it was the right thing to do. I know it was. I am in Pennsylvania because I'm going hiking with Jonas soon, and I needed the safety net of the Harne house to crash land into. I left my person on good terms, but it was one of the saddest challenges I can remember. I was in love, and I never want to put myself through trying to date people again. I want to find my person, and I push real hard to reconcile any differences to make it work. I lost sight of myself, I lost my sense of self. I ignored my needs, my comfort, my reality.

I'm moving my health insurance shit back to Pennsylvania and never changing my official address again in my life. I'll move, but that address change shit is too much. My health insurance doesn't kick in until November 1st (also my birthday) so my wonderful mom is paying out of pocket for me to go to a new doctor and explore the options for anti-anxiety medication, which I am convinced will help, and eventually Adderall, which has helped with motivation and organization in the past. Right now? I can hardly do a single fuckin' thing. I'm broken.

I'm going to get better. The logical part of my brain recognizes the pieces of the puzzle and the path to wellness. The emotional part of my brain is falling apart, and I just keep sobbing. I found a human who knew my pronouns, and called me their girl, and loved me. They were always kind to me, and I felt like I finally had a partner who could take care of me with the things I am not good at. It wasn't enough. The move to Chicago was stressful, and I felt overwhelming panic every day. I began to hurt my partner with my words and actions, and I felt helpless to stop. Everything I said was misinterpreted, or correctly interpreted but infused with unfortunate frustration and panic. Eventually it was too much, and I had to do what I always do: load up my van and drive away.

I have a prescription for Effexor, which is an anti-depressant. I've been taking it for two days, but it's supposed to take 2-6 weeks to have an effect. My self image is not that of a depressed person, but I am at a point where I feel that I need to be open-minded about any help so I can start to feel like I am myself. I want to feel like I am operating my own body. I know that the breakup is a causal factor in how I am feeling, but also that the symptoms have existed at some level forever. I have been suffering. I know that my suffering is simple and lightweight compared to the struggles of others, and frankly I don't know how people live like that. Like this.

I will find my path, and I will soon enough be able to travel again and reach goals. Simple stuff. I am doing everything in my power to make it so. But for right now, I am only trying to hold it together. Keep it together. Mindfulness. Stop replaying every detail of the relationship which caused me discomfort and panic. Pump the brakes on the sobbing. Ride a bicycle. You've got this, Chris. You go, girl. It's going to be better than fine. Soon. Just hang in there.