It’s my birthday today. I’m 33. I’m also perhaps the most depressed that I’ve been in as long as I can remember. This depression that I’ve been experiencing isn’t the same as what I’m used to though. The tides of grief feel different somehow and I don’t know why.
And these tides terrify me. Every twenty minutes or so, I get struck with grief that’s of such strength and depth that it’s impossible for me to not be taken under. It’s fucking exhausting.
But I managed to get out of bed today. I took a shower and dried my hair. I wrote a couple of hundred words on my new book Song Of The Wendigo and I did a little bit of publicizing for My Heart Is A Forest. I’ve also managed to read a few chapters of Witch Light by Susan Fletcher (can’t recommend highly enough) and I took a walk (eventhough I was feeling especially paranoid about being in the vicinity of people).
But now, as I’m writing this, it’s the first time I’ve said to myself ‘hey, despite everything, you’re doing ok wolf heart, you’re doing ok.’ I think I need to be saying these words to myself every few minutes at the moment, to lighten the burden at least a little.
Celebrating the strange and the shadowy, the damned and unseen 
Not “like” for how you feel but because it’s your birthday. I still have a hobbit’s fondness for birthdays, the kind that enjoys receiving and giving on the day. This sounds silly, I imagine, against the heaviness of what you feel; but I appreciate your having made another year. And your book being available.
Thank you so much. Your comments are always so heartfelt and a true pleasure to read. š I really appreciate you taking the time out to write.