Making My Way Back

Dear Internet,

I had a Christmas tree in my living until last Sunday.  That's right.  A Christmas tree. 

Turns out I was depressed again.  Not debilitating.  Straight-jacket.  Kill myself depressed. That would be too easy.  I could just be committed and get it over with.

But no, what I struggle with is much more subtle than that.  A pull the covers over my head.  Hide.  Cry about commercials depressed.  A depressed that masquerades as being tired and cranky and a burnt out graduate student.

A depressed that I don't even notice until a friend comes over and says, "Why the fuck is your Christmas tree still up?"  And then suddenly all the avoiding phone calls, huffy exchanges with my colleagues, disaster of a house, and excessive Sex and City watching makes sense. 

Oh right.  This.  Again.

And then I have to dig myself out.  Wash the weeks old dirty dishes.  Hang up the clothes.  Call everyone back.

Take down the fucking Christmas tree.

Tell you I missed you and that I'll be back soon.

Love,
Sara