This past month has been hard. Since Thanksgiving, I have steadily crawled deeper and deeper under the rock of depression. Therapy’s been gut-wrenching. And then my sweet uncle died from Covid in the morning on December 16th alone in the hospital. I wrote about it on my Instagram account: maegoeswestblog if you want to read more. Usually I write longer, heavier posts here, but I just wasn’t feeling it that day. I haven’t been feeling it for a few weeks now.
I’ve experienced a cadre of emotions this month, from enjoying small pockets of delight, to missing a dear friend who moved back home, to warm, fuzzy holiday cheer, to mourning my Uncle Dave, to a burbling hope for humanity, to mourning Black men and women killed extra-judiciously. Friends, I think this is normal ten months into an unconscionable global pandemic of Covid but also racial reckoning, though it seems a lot of people have forgotten about the latter.
If this feels unfocused, it’s because I am — unfocused, rambling, purposeless. I haven’t created much since last month which is throwing me after recently rediscovering my creativity and how to let it flow sans judgement or the dreaded imposter syndrome. Today is the first day I’ve felt like opening myself up to my imagination. I have written wisps of songs, plot lines, delicious language, and poems since April. I am going to collect those, compile them into one document, and I’ll see where that takes me.
Thank you for attending my stream of consciousness.
Hoping to remain open to my own imagination,