A good friend recently told me to write so I would know what’s in my heart.
I don’t really want to know what is in my heart. When in I get into these places I become convinced that I am as rotten and vile as they come. I believe it more than I believe that this stuff in my lungs is air, and that air keeps me alive. I am broken, I am a blight upon the world.
But I’ve been mind-writing just the same, because I don’t know what else to do.
And it has helped. I wrote about hope, I wrote about a well crafted meal, I wrote about passion. Because as much as this season sucks, and as much as it’s my fault, it is driven by the same passion that makes me care about the state of the world around me. It’s the same passion that makes me fight over and over again for what I believe. The same heart that explodes when I’m at the top of a mountain is the same one that implodes when I’m stuck in a valley. Gotta take the bad with the good. I am passionate, ergo, my highs are excruciatingly beautiful, and my lows are soul-crushing. So be it.
Hopefully I’ll get more mileage out of this season of shit than just “Mel is passionate,” but it’s enough for now.
And my dog Bro just planted his cold, wet nose into my elbow and wagged his tail like mad. I guess that counts for something too.
