I am in the midst of a years long struggle with writing. And dealing with the loss of my brother. It’s so hard to believe I will ever feel like I can write normally again though I am told I will. You’re dealing with so much and you will find your way back. I know that. But I hear you on depression and the strange limbo of a life in transition. We will hang out in NYC! This was a beautiful essay.
This essay was a beautiful gift that met me in my stuckness and sadness.
I’ll thank you with the spots in Brooklyn that can meet me in my stickiness and stuckness and hold me without asking anything of me.
- mccarren pool. enormous. No line about 45 min after they open. no phones allowed on the deck so I can remember how to disappear in public without my phone.
- ny aquarium, Coney Island. weekdays only.
- the counter at Peter Pan donuts, afternoons only. the coffee is basically battery acid.
that’s it. I used to eat pastrami sandwiches with my sister in the park by Katz’s and then we’d take out our stress by yelling at the rats there. it’s too far. lmk if you find a good park in Brooklyn to yell at rats.
good luck, Carmen. hope something inflates your heart soon.
I'm so sorry and also I'm so glad you shared this. Thank you. I feel less stupid and ridiculous and ungrateful now. These words by Zora Neale Hurston give me comfort: “There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”
welcome to substack! and how validating to hear that being 22 is synonymous with being lost. i am 22 & lost, with a diploma in creative writing and not much else. thank you for writing this:)
I hear you and I relate so very hard. Thank you for sticking these particular words on the page. I especially love reading them before the tics are edited away because, in some cases, raw is the most delicious. (Not with carrot sticks, though.)
Thank you for this. I was so thrilled this morning to get this recommendation from Roxanne Gay for a Cup of Stars. I am sorry what you are going through. I have been there (am still there?), separated from a loving marriage and pushed into that liminal space, a word a podcaster I used to listen to utters so often to describe the sad and stuck place that I also have felt I want to hit another human being. Maybe they hit a nerve, since being in a liminal space, as you write, finds the liminator depressed and lost. Wishing you the best and so looking forward to reading more.
I am so sorry. My relationship of 37 years stopped being a romantic relationship in 2020 and I am still trying to get my writing feet under me again. Fat, queer me has always felt a little weird at residencies — sometimes I've been wildly productive and sometimes not. And health stuff has been slowing me down, too. All that to say — thank you! Solidarity! And, me, writing outside with a pen and a paper notebook has been helping a little. Making use of those woods. (Although — truth — I've been loving the shady cemetery across the street.) Thank you for your work. Wishing you rest and good work, both.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful essay. Deeply understand the need to sink into grass and lay still. Trying to embrace that a bit for myself even though I realize I am struggling. Sending love and hope for some magic to start shining through <3
Oh! I love the title. I once made a mixed media mobile inspired by “…she wants her cup of stars.” That story. Your stories. Sending you so many cups of stars!
That's a lot of change and disruption adding up. Relationships will always be the hardest to lose, I believe, the spots where we've loved and believed. To also think you might be losing your life at the same time? Too much. And then teeth-grinding through writing. There aren't enough carrots... Here's to positive change for you to fill some of the painful emptiness, and lots of it in Brooklyn.
the way you describe the difference between the familiarity of anxiety and the newness of depression hit home. currently going through a similar zone myself. curious about what your anchors are in this moment. sending light
It has been a season or a year or two of anxiety and depression. Thank you for sharing with us all, and sorry for the creative struggles and relationship undoings.
I am in the midst of a years long struggle with writing. And dealing with the loss of my brother. It’s so hard to believe I will ever feel like I can write normally again though I am told I will. You’re dealing with so much and you will find your way back. I know that. But I hear you on depression and the strange limbo of a life in transition. We will hang out in NYC! This was a beautiful essay.
This essay was a beautiful gift that met me in my stuckness and sadness.
I’ll thank you with the spots in Brooklyn that can meet me in my stickiness and stuckness and hold me without asking anything of me.
- mccarren pool. enormous. No line about 45 min after they open. no phones allowed on the deck so I can remember how to disappear in public without my phone.
- ny aquarium, Coney Island. weekdays only.
- the counter at Peter Pan donuts, afternoons only. the coffee is basically battery acid.
that’s it. I used to eat pastrami sandwiches with my sister in the park by Katz’s and then we’d take out our stress by yelling at the rats there. it’s too far. lmk if you find a good park in Brooklyn to yell at rats.
good luck, Carmen. hope something inflates your heart soon.
I'm so sorry and also I'm so glad you shared this. Thank you. I feel less stupid and ridiculous and ungrateful now. These words by Zora Neale Hurston give me comfort: “There are years that ask questions and years that answer.”
welcome to substack! and how validating to hear that being 22 is synonymous with being lost. i am 22 & lost, with a diploma in creative writing and not much else. thank you for writing this:)
I hear you and I relate so very hard. Thank you for sticking these particular words on the page. I especially love reading them before the tics are edited away because, in some cases, raw is the most delicious. (Not with carrot sticks, though.)
Thank you for this. I was so thrilled this morning to get this recommendation from Roxanne Gay for a Cup of Stars. I am sorry what you are going through. I have been there (am still there?), separated from a loving marriage and pushed into that liminal space, a word a podcaster I used to listen to utters so often to describe the sad and stuck place that I also have felt I want to hit another human being. Maybe they hit a nerve, since being in a liminal space, as you write, finds the liminator depressed and lost. Wishing you the best and so looking forward to reading more.
I am so sorry. My relationship of 37 years stopped being a romantic relationship in 2020 and I am still trying to get my writing feet under me again. Fat, queer me has always felt a little weird at residencies — sometimes I've been wildly productive and sometimes not. And health stuff has been slowing me down, too. All that to say — thank you! Solidarity! And, me, writing outside with a pen and a paper notebook has been helping a little. Making use of those woods. (Although — truth — I've been loving the shady cemetery across the street.) Thank you for your work. Wishing you rest and good work, both.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful essay. Deeply understand the need to sink into grass and lay still. Trying to embrace that a bit for myself even though I realize I am struggling. Sending love and hope for some magic to start shining through <3
Oh! I love the title. I once made a mixed media mobile inspired by “…she wants her cup of stars.” That story. Your stories. Sending you so many cups of stars!
Can't begin to explain how much this resonated. Thank you for writing, for your vulnerability. Sending love. I hope things ease.
That's a lot of change and disruption adding up. Relationships will always be the hardest to lose, I believe, the spots where we've loved and believed. To also think you might be losing your life at the same time? Too much. And then teeth-grinding through writing. There aren't enough carrots... Here's to positive change for you to fill some of the painful emptiness, and lots of it in Brooklyn.
the way you describe the difference between the familiarity of anxiety and the newness of depression hit home. currently going through a similar zone myself. curious about what your anchors are in this moment. sending light
It has been a season or a year or two of anxiety and depression. Thank you for sharing with us all, and sorry for the creative struggles and relationship undoings.
Loved this, sending you some queer love from the south
❤️ grateful for you & yr writing
Although i'm not a writer i felt this with every fiber of my being...