I started this newsletter wanting to talk about the difference between depression and anxiety, to talk about them in the context of a lie—a lie I told over the weekend on a visit to my dear friend. But after reading about the two mood disorders, I am torn. I had been telling myself that I actually was an anxious person, and that the depression was just a bi-product. But I am not sure. I kinda feel like I was always drawn to sadness and to wanting to explore sadness and find the joy within.
This is an important distinction only in that I wonder what the story you are telling yourself is at this moment? And if that will change throughout the day? Since the above paragraph, I have concluded that I am actually an anxious-depressed person.
Over the weekend, I had to make a house call. Let’s start over. Over the weekend, I escaped what seemed like a life-or-death situation that was and wasn’t at the same time. Margaret, who now wants to be called Maggie, and I visited a friend who I love, but have a hard time seeing and talking to even though every time I see her I am reminded how much I deeply care for her.
On Thursday night, I got a text message from our mutual friend asking if I had reached out to her. I said no. I had been meaning to, but I hadn't. For a number of reasons. The guilt of not reaching out sooner is the main one. Which is fucked up, but it feels like an accurate description of the situation. Our friend told me that she was having a hard time. And might like it if I reached out to her.
(It is becoming blatantly obvious that I cannot have the number of people in my life that I used to as friends. I just can’t keep up. I want to, but with M and caring for her and keeping the business going, I have started a list. And am trying to stop feeling guilty every time someone texts and I can’t get back to them because M is screaming. I really would like to get back to everyone. Honestly. I love people. But I also love M and I cannot keep everyone happy.)
I texted her to see if I could visit her on Saturday am. She said yes. All of Friday I felt panicky. On Thursday, I had made an apt for an MRI with my neurologist. A new symptom of my anxiety has been vomiting. I didn’t know this was a thing. But apparently, it is.
The weird thing about vomiting in public is just that it is one of the things like, for example, shitting oneself in public that people tend to choose not to do if they can avoid it. I don’t get embarrassed by much, but this is something I really really try not to do. It happened first in SFMOMA and then has been happening now and then ever since. I was on the way to see a collection I did with them:
I started to feel a little woozy while going (flanked by two Julie Mehretu works, under a 90s Matthew Barney drawing) downstairs at SFMOMA on the way to the gift shop.
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