Don’t ask about the ampersand. I don’t know if it’s grammatically correct.
It’s been a few months, and it’s safe to say I’m ready to move on from summer. The sun, the breeze, the heat, and that damn nostalgia that puts me in an odd state of depression and dissociation.
I don’t know how I get here.
It will take anything: a line in a book, one simple chord, the bright sun burning my skin, and I’m back. Back to seven years old playing Super Hero Rangers in my best friend’s backyard. Back to ten years old and climbing all the trees I can reach even though I’m terrified of heights.
Back to simple. Back to safe. Back to childhood.
For some reason, it screws me up. I can’t be back there. I think the realization that I’m truly no longer a child, mixed with that sweet tea I tasted before depression tore me apart, reminds me that I’m not the same.
How do we accept growth? How do we learn to hold on and yet let go and yet again move on? How do we look back and smile without wishing we were back?
The consistency of the summer weather helps me. Every year, no matter where I am, there’s sun. It’s hot, but I can find shade, and in Oregon there’s always a soft breeze. I drink more iced coffee and tea, and spend more time outside. It doesn’t feel right, but it doesn’t feel as wrong as it used to.
It’s always the same.
The sun doesn’t change because of my depression. The wind doesn’t disappear during panic attacks. I’m still here, and this summer, that’s enough.
Here’s a link to my summer playlist, if you too feel nostalgic and weird about it. Also, read Invincible Summer by Hannah Moskowitz or Ida B by Katherine Hannigan.
Happy Summer loves. We’re gonna make it.
-Hannah
