Thanks to everyone who stopped by for the MSFV Blog Hop! If you’re interested, Peter Salomon interviewed me for the blog hop as well. (I forgot to link to it from this blog at the time. Clearly I’m still getting the hang of this promotion thing.)
A while back, I wrote that I felt like I was living in a fairyland. I still do. The feeling hasn’t rendered me completely invulnerable to depression (the monsters in the woods I mentioned in the fairyland entry, which I have concluded basically exist somewhere north of anything resembling logic). But even that is better than it has been. And if I ever start to take anything for granted, I only have to compare where I am now to where I was eight months ago.
(It is very strange, by the way, to think that I’ve been at my current job for just over six months, and agented for five and a half. Awesome! But strange.)
Last year, I wanted to write a story called “The Happiness Lady Comes to the Broken”–a title I’ve had floating around in my head for years, but never knew what to do with. The general idea would have been that it’s okay to be a little bit broken. I was never able to write it, though, because I couldn’t quite make myself believe it.
I still can’t. I would give a lot–maybe not everything, but a lot–to somehow be able to do college over, without the depression and the constant self-sabotage that came with it. I wasn’t constantly miserable, but I was unhappy and lonely for much of the time. I remember, during one finals period, telling a professor that I was overwhelmed and needed an extension on a paper. She granted it, and my first thought was, Oh, okay. I don’t have to die.
I can’t say that’s okay. Does it diminish my worth as a person? No. Nor does it diminish everything I managed to do well anyway: I wrote a novel during that time, which I love. I graduated on time (technically in seven semesters because I took a “retroactive leave of absence” at one point), with honors, and the degree helped me get a job that I feel amazingly lucky to have. But I am not convinced that the depression was necessary. I can’t yet say, “Everything that happened to me made me who I am and brought me to this place, and I have come to terms with it.”
Maybe I don’t have to say that. I don’t know.
… Um. Calming Manatee, anyone?