I'm depressed. Sometimes I am suicidally so, but it's been months since the last time I wanted to pour handfuls of pills in my hand and take them all. But I remember what it's like. I remember the little thoughts creeping into my head as I make a to-do-list for the day, how 'kill myself' kept sneaking onto the end of the list. I remember staying up late to keep talking to people who love me because if I stopped, I'd do something drastic.

I remember every endless day feeling as empty and useless as the last.

I have a job now that I love. It keeps me busy, and I enjoy doing it, and I haven't had a suicidal thought since I started even though it's the dead of winter, and winter is the worst time of the year for me.

Some days are still horrible. I hate the way the inside of my house is still insulation-covered rather than walls. I hate the bare concrete floors. I hate that my dad has cancer, and he's always going off to NIH to get tests. I hate that my mother works and lives an hour away these days, and I only see her on the weekends when she comes home.

But the world is lovely. The world has Chimaera Fancies pendants, the Tao Te Ching, empires that have risen and fallen, colored pencils and coloring books, glass and scrapbook paper and glue, bath bombs, Mardi Gras, chocolate, cygnets growing into swans, ducks demanding bread, the feel of cold air rushing into your lungs as you step out of the car.

Life is shockingly beautiful, and I don't ever want it to end.