Healing is a complicated journey. You can think that you’re all done, but then something happens to remind you that more time is needed. The worst part about that is that the wound doesn’t need to tell you that it’s there because you’ll check for yourself. Like with a bruise that’s turned green, you poke at the pain to see if it lingers. “Hm, does this hurt? Let me test it.” You apply more and more pressure until you can feel the pain again. It’s never as bad as the initial injury, but it’s still there. Different, but there.
Poem #21
I’m passions paled away ashy, waiting / for a word to flutter, hinging on this
The Bond House: Degrees of Separation
It's funny how quickly we bond, to the point that we get so used to life together that it seems impossible to live any other way. The Bond House is a place where that happens with some regularity. When we got started in early 2018, there were 8 of us: 8 strangers who agreed that living in a totally-not-haunted house was a good idea. We were the ones who put the House's heart together, helped shape it into what it is now, and have become closer than many people are with their own families. Now our rooms are full, but the cast is different. Most of the original 8 are gone now, or are permanently traveling, and I have to say that it's hard. Even harder still is that this original number dwindles still. Theresa is leaving today.
The Bond House: Those Summertime Feelings, pt. 2
I know I haven't written about our Bond House antics in some time, though this isn't for a lack of source material (believe me), and for that I am sorry. Roommate relationships are like any relationship in the sense that there is a honeymoon phase that fades into day-to-day life, which means that it's easy to take the magic of the house for granted. Our party going has gone the way of dinners at home, binge-watching Netflix, getting mad at Game of Thrones, hiking, the occasional evening adventure, and plenty of time in the hammock. It's not glamorous, but it feels like what I need right now.
Hi, My Name is Bailey and I Still Have Depression
Months ago now, I told you that I was feeling better than I have in my whole life. That's still true. In fact, sometimes I forget that I have depression. Sometimes I forget how bad things actually were. Sometimes I forget how it feels to lay on the kitchen floor and cry. Sometimes I forget that I attempted suicide. But the thing about depression is that it doesn't forget you. Depression has a long memory. Depression is a long memory. So yes, I am okay. So yes, I still have depression.
Poem #20
Gideon's fur finally grew back, / two years after you shaved him / that summer, despite his undercoat.
Poem #19: Happy Mother’s Day
This is for your mother, Kathleen. Even after I stopped loving you, I couldn't move her from my heart. This poem was written when my relationship with words was rawer, but the sentiment is still there. May she sleep in peace on this crisp Mother's Day. The world has been a colder place without her.
Poem #18
La mer a crevé dans rien / comme vous l’avez fait / il y a six ans maintenant
Poem #17
After I tell him I'm tired of crashing / into someone else's desperation, I reach / for you and conquer misplaced loyalty
The Bond House: Romance Novels Are Killing Me
Since the rousing success of Fonduesdays in December, many of us here in the Bond House have agreed to be a part of other challenges and month-long themes. While Vegan February was left up to the likes of Lark and Brennan (though the rest of us did gladly eat whatever they made), we have found other ways to engage in communal activities. March, for instance, was a speed-reading month, a skill that I was forced to learn in college and was willing to exercise in solidarity. I'll let you the secret to learning this invaluable ability: read things you truly do not care about. This month's fodder? Romance novels.
