now that the zine is done, i feel as if i have accomplished something good in my life–and the fog of gray cold is starting to lift just a bit.

it’s weird how doing something with your hands–thinking in a new way–really is meditative and refreshing. i realized over the past month or so that i’ve really never been encouraged, on any level or in any sense, to do things with my hands. as a kid, building things was for boys/men and girls were supposed to do sewing and knitting. added to that was pressure by my family to take up the family trade–i come from a long line of knitters and sewers–and there was not just pressure, but insistence–on “sharing” the womanly trade. isn’t it great to have three generations of us forced under one roof?

so big old rebellious me hated every moment of it and have managed to somehow forget everything ‘taught’ to me.

coming back to my hands so many years later–learning how to work them after they’ve been neglected so long–it’s been very rewarding. i don’t know why, but i can feel different parts of my brain working as my hands work–it’s something i’ve never experienced before, but it makes me really excited for my brain.

it’s getting exercise–and doing just fine!

** i’ve learned a lot of other things while working on this zine–mainly that something as simple as reconnecting in a physical way to the seasons of the year (even if it’s just by noticing on the calender that there is only three weeks left of winter, now two weeks, etc) has really helped me to manage depression. which is not to say i haven’t been depressed–as i’ve mentioned else where, i am currently only just now sort of starting to emerge from a pretty solid depression that has lasted weeks. but…it’s different. i know that it’s going to end. that my goal is to find a way to ride the waves and the dips. comfortably and with compassion for myself. in a non-abusive way.

this is something i have never known before. or maybe i have–but–just never knew how to do. i’m learning how now, and it’s making the dips and the lulls not so intense. not so scary.

**speaking of depression. i’ve discovered that often times–although depression is grounded in biology and you will never hear me say otherwise–depression is *also* grounded in unprocessed shit. for weeks and weeks–i was shifting in and out of hysterical depression and icy cold depression. and then one day i found myself typing frantically about how i wish more than life that i had the money to give every single girl everywhere her first bra. and how i wish that i had enough of myself to go to every school and take every girl who needed a “mother figure” out to get a bra. typing frantically and crying.

and it sorta took me off guard, because i don’t usually do that. i cry before or after i write–but writing is a time of focus. i was so angery, i was pounding on those keys…

and then i realized–baby bfp has reached that stage. she got the “how things work” lecture at school at that all ended with a female teacher taking all of the girls into the bathroom and telling them that now is a good time to talk to your parents about getting bras.

and somewhere out of the blue, i realized that i never had that parent that i could go to. that if a teacher had said that to me, not only would i have been unable to talk to my parent, but i would’ve then felt like a double failure because a grown up had told me to do something and i couldn’t.

and i thought about how my daughter has three women outside of me that she can go to to talk about this stuff–and about how she has a father that she’s invited along to go with her to get her first set of t-shirts (cuz girlfriend SO ain’t ready for teh bra!! lol). and about how thrilled baby bfp is to be getting her boobs–how she’s been announcing it to the world for months.

and then later on, I heard from another parent at the school about how the teacher who gave Teh Talk is known for approaching parents and informing them its time to get a bra and what kind of bra it’s time to get (sports bras/more supportive bras for bigger girls, for example). So that those who are lazy or unwilling to help their daughters are sorta shamed into doing it (this teacher’s not nice about it). and the girl knows that somebody is in her corner.

so even if i was a fucked up parent, my daughter would be taken care of.

she’d know that somebody had her back.

And I remember that little girl i was–I see her wearing coats when it’s wasn’t cold and walking with her chest folded in and burning when the male teacher tells her in front of the class that “some of us need to take better care of how we dress…”

and i know that nobody had that girl’s back. not even her.

and i look now at the “depression” that everybody tells me is biologically based–chemicals in my brain all fucked up. because there’s no other reason to explain why i’m so weepy and cold and nasty all the time.

and i think–the chemicals are all fucked up because i’ve been working my hardest to forget shit–until i was ready to deal with it all on my own terms and in my own way.

**

Have I mentioned that I’m so happy my brain is learning to work and exercise itself?

And did I tell you that my brain re-working itself all started with me getting on anti-depressants?

**

The other thing I’ve learned–we are attacked by a web of violence–it’s never just one thing that hurts us (i.e. ONLY capitalism, ONLY racism, etc). So why on earth would we think that we will be “cured” or “healed’ by singular solutions?

**

and finally–spring is coming. Sun. Warmth. Life. The world–and us–reborn.

I salute all of us who are reaching for the finishstart line. we may have to carry each other, drag each other, crawl, roll, and push each other to the line–but we will do it. we will get there. again.

cuz we’re warriors like that.