Paper My Heart

What hurts, what helps, and a gift for you.

I want to say it’s ironic that I’ve been having issues with my heart, but it honestly just makes sense. My heart has always, as long as I can recall, been what hurts.

I hover in between anxiety and depression more than one might consider to be ideal. I’m sure you’ve noticed this by now, although I do think I do quite a good job of faking the old pep-in-the-step for public consumption. My anxiety and depression (and I do think of them as “mine,” kind of like grumpy pets that I have to take care of even though they’re total assholes to me and completely ungrateful for the amount of time I spend dealing with them) don’t seem particularly situational; they’re just my particular brain chemistry’s cross to bear. Medication has helped and therapy is essential — but goodness, do I ever envy people whose resting minds don’t run quite so dark.