Release. Release.

There is a certain solace to crying in the dark. Unfortunately, when you're depressed, crying in the dark is a drug: it is something you retreat to, like a closet. It's inviting and warm, but you know that it will kill you in the long run.

But something has changed for me. The new drugs are working, my Buddhist studies (if you can call them that) are taking hold, I don't know. I cried in the dark last night.

I brought myself to orgasm last night. Not terribly unusual except that it happened very quickly and without assistance from batteries...a rarity these days. Afterward, I broke down in sobs of shame about my body, and the weight I've gained in the last year. Yet, it didn't send me spiralling down toward the deep, weighty black. In fact, just the opposite; I was quite detached from it. The whole time I was sobbing, I was thinking rationally about the joy of being able to feel the deliciousness of life -including the pain and sadness. I saw the moment for what it was: clouds drifting past the sun. And in a few minutes, the crying was done, and I actually felt refreshed. Like I used to, before the depression.

Release, then release. Both equally wonderful, both valid, both necessary. And really, not so very different.

I have come to realize that emotions ARE clouds drifting past the sun. ALL emotions. They are just as insubstantial and penetrable. They only SEEM solid when you view them from a distance. But when you're right there with them, IN them, feeling them fully and letting them wash over you without the benefit of barriers, you realize that there isn't much there. Then you understand that they will dissipate and change and reform and evaporate. Let them come, let them go. They are a part of the human landscape, but not much more.