“Only what is entirely lost demands to be endlessly named: there is a mania to call the lost thing until it returns.”
Every end of February, right on the cusp of summer I go into this phase of melancholy: like someone honoring a death anniversary, I go through a kind of commemoration–an unnecessary but compulsive respect for things that are gone. It’s something that I’ve gotten used to over the years–like PMS or family reunions–but it is still sad nonetheless. Like both those things mentioned, I figure that this will probably last a) forever or b) until it doesn’t and so I have found ways to cope: noting patterns, making playlists, remembering memories before they hit me of their own accord, writing down dreams to use as fodder for fiction once I’ve forgotten them entirely. Indulge me.
1. It always begins with a dream; be ready.
Symptoms: right before you sleep, you will have the urge to write something down. Write it down.
Two rules: be detailed in documentation; forget everything you wrote down.
2. Solve for x in terms of y.
Put your sadness into other people’s words.
Summertime Sadness (Lana Del Rey)
The Anti-Christ (The 1975)
3. Don’t talk about it to anyone in specific detail.
Talking about the thing is not the thing–it is the remembrance of the thing, the person. It is useless to tell people “remember the thing, remember the time” because they will say “it’s finished” or “that again”–it is not the thing, it is the remembrance of the thing. In these things, we are alone. (Except in writing, except in the erasure of the face, the name in question–without a name, all lost things are our lost things.)
5. Resist the urge to let yourself go.
Exercise, sleep early, put on your make up.