I think this is normal: I worry for my children.
I worry for the middle one, sixteen and practical who covers her tenderness in a hard shell and drives herself, flagging, toward perfection. May she learn balance.
I worry for the youngest one, fourteen and angry and artistic and beautiful. May she learn to be gentle with herself.
I worry for the eldest one, almost twenty and struggling “to adult” with her kind heart exposed to the world. May she learn to protect and love herself.
I suppose I worry for myself, too, almost forty-five and wanting to clutch the children to me and pin their wings in the hope they will never, ever fall.
It takes a strong brain to go on. I blame myself for being depressed. I blame myself for falling through the rabbit holes in my consciousness and finding myself in moods which don’t much mirror reality. How does one describe the taste of blue?
Some aspects of my consciousness are unavoidable. Some aspects are optional. Sorting my states and impressions into those two piles is the work of a lifetime.
I’ll make a proposition based on the statements in the first paragraph: depression and alterations in perception are unavoidable. Spending my precious energy on blaming myself is optional.
It takes a strong brain to go on. I’ll not weaken myself today with optional negativity.