Personal¶

Lost in Shades of "I'm Okay"

There is a particular meanness to depression.

It doesn't always arrive like a storm. More often it comes like summer heat: slow, saturating, difficult to argue with. It settles into the walls, into the body, into the space between one thought and the next, until everything feels heavy with it. The house seems to take it in. Even the light looks tired by the time it reaches the room.

I have known days when the floor felt like the safest place to keep my eyes. Old wood, scarred and splitting, honest in its damage. Floorboards don't ask anything of you. They don't expect performance. They don't require you to explain why lifting your head feels like lifting stone. Looking down became a kind of prayer then, if prayer can be made out of exhaustion. I studied every crooked crack as if it might tell me how to stay in one piece. Lost in shades of "I'm okay."

T.J. Came Running

I was 13 the day I learned that love and safety were different things.

For years afterward, I remembered it as sounds. Not the worst sound, not even the one that should have mattered most, but the smaller ones that came before it, ordinary details preserved in perfect condition.

The bus brakes hissing on the county road.

The car engine idling with that low, stubborn tremor old engines have.

Gravel and clay ticking under the tires.

It was an afternoon like a hundred others, so ordinary it seemed beneath notice. Which is often how disaster arrives: without warning, dressed as routine.

Under That Kind of Sky

The area of South Georgia I came from did not announce itself as haunted. It called itself ordinary. It was made of fence lines, gravel, ditches, heat, livestock, debt, prayer, rust, and long stretches of road that seemed to vanish into weather. Nothing in it asked to be mythologized. Still, looking back, it feels touched by something darker than hardship alone. Not a ghost story exactly, but a place where ruin had a pulse and memory seemed to live in the ground.