Pretzels and Vanilla Frosting

Depression was a four month hangover.

It was lunches alone at Subway, not really eating but sitting there for hours to be by myself without being alone.

Hope was pretzels and vanilla frosting.

Depression was exhaustion without excursion, and guilt for my sedation. It was wanting friends without wanting to see them. It was wanting to have fun but not wanting to do my favorite things.

Hope was pretzels and vanilla frosting.

I cried sometimes. But what I remember the most was the staring.

I sat. I stared. I sat. I stared.

I looked at everything and saw nothing.

I don’t know when it stopped. I don’t remember any moment of clarity or relief. I don’t think there was one, but I know there were pretzels and vanilla frosting.

There was Justine. There was our floor. There was our snack. And that was enough.

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