But christ, that melancholy. 

Have you had a weight sit on your chest so firmly that it wouldn’t even move to let you sleep? Pressing into you, while also tightening a vice grip around the back of your neck, while also fogging your memory in a cloud that spins up your hours and days and weeks? Have you honestly ever felt so sad that moments in which there’s nothing at all to be sad about hardly feel real to you? When your sadness becomes an anchor, a home, a hole to disappear into? 

I don’t know if it was solely the sudden death of someone I loved, I think it sparked something else: I started to wonder what else there was besides the dogged pursuit I came to New York for, uprooted my life for. I stopped examining the pictures I took– I composed and tried as hard as I could, but god, so often, then, and so often, now, I couldn’t try. There are things that drive me now, thankfully, and most days are better than others, and I can get out of bed again, but remembering how absolutely, completely down I felt: it was the same kind of dearth you feel when you sink to the bottom of a swimming pool, when you close your eyes and let out all the air. 

And over time I got past it; over time I found victories and joys that did not feel bittersweet because of their infrequency; I formed friendships that have floated me past the sharpest pains; I learned to trust myself more, and grew into a person I mostly favor. Today I bought a swimsuit and a cap and goggles and am going to drag my ass to exercise at least once a week. Today I want to remember trying, so that when I can’t try (which is okay), I don’t feel like I’m never able to.

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