I slept most of the day and hiked up my electric bill. I had the AC running, hard. I don’t want to work tonight and this strawberry mochi tastes like TCBY in Aruba when I was six. Everyone got drunk for the first time that year and I didn't know what to make of it. I thought it was a phase. I just want to know if I got the job already. I have to leave, walk to work, stay until close, and I don't want to. I thought it would get easier. I used to want my days free and now I want the nights back. I wonder if I intervened too much. I slept all day; I shouldn’t be tired.
I get a migraine halfway through my shift and have to pretend it’s nothing; this is just how my face is, this is how I look when I work. There are so many glasses to polish. They keep coming in racks, and then the silverware, and then more glasses. The busser is coked out of his mind and wants to leave by 11:30, but we won’t. When I finally get in bed around 12:30am, my head is pounding so hard I can’t see. I put a cold compress over my eyes and all I can think about is seventh grade. When I was thirteen I was overcome with depression because Austin from my art class didn't love me back. It made me feel weak and sick. It overtook me. I tried to change myself in small ways to make him love me, but he loved someone else and they had their time together and we didn't.
Being depressed as an adult is another world of pain; a pain that almost doesn't hurt because it sucks so much. There is nothingness in being a child, a kid, a student, with the illusion of care wrapped around you so tight like a comfortable blanket, warm, promising, hopeful. As an adult, no one cares if you sit in your apartment all day and eat licorice or whether you ran a mile or whether you bite your cuticles ‘til they burn or whether you smile when you work or work at all. It’s freeing and terrifying, both, at once. I think about this as a cold arc of pain rises in my forehead. I know the pain will pass, but it hurts, endless, in my mind.
When I stayed in Santa Cruz I went to this pizza place that gave away free t-shirts when you bought a slice. I have no idea where that shirt went. I loved it so much when I had it. All we have is our art. I woke up at 6:00am and the pain was still dull in the front of my face. I went back to sleep until 9:00am and now it’s 5:00pm and I'm working on submissions. I think all I can do is keep going, but I don't want to sometimes. Sometimes I just want the things I love to love me back, and for that to be enough. I miss that shirt, even though it’s stupid. I miss it more than I should.