Depression's Back & I'm Dreaming of Dirty Motels Again

dirty motels dirty bathrooms and well

When the world feels like too much, we need reminders of why we stay.

I know what it's like to search for those crucial, critical reasons to keep going. As someone who lives with schizoaffective disorder, fibromyalgia, and C-PTSD, among a bevy of other wonders, I navigate the tender landscape between safety and danger daily, I've learned that meaning isn't found in One Big Saving Grace. It's cultivated in small, true things worth staying for.

That's why I created REASONS FOR LIVING with Esmé Weijun Wang—a sanctuary for people who feel deeply in a world that often overwhelms.

This is for you if:

• You're sensitive (really darn sensitive) and need reminders that this is strength, not liability

• The weight of the world feels heavy, but you're still working to make it better

• Traditional "self-help" makes you roll your eyes or feel broken

• You crave genuine depth and connection with others who understand

What you'll find: Every month, thoughtful essays exploring what makes life worth living (even when it's hard), carefully curated reasons from art and literature, and reflection prompts for your own meaning-making practice.

Paid members ($7/month, $70/year) also receive: Two intimate personal essays too tender for public consumption, access to the secret Vault of resources worth $400+, meaningful comment threads with fellow seekers, and seasonal care packages that drop into your inbox like gentle reminders.

As one member wrote: "Esmé's newsletter is filled with a gentleness that I don't normally find... I will never unsubscribe."

For less than a coffee date, you're joining nearly 300 people who've decided their inner life is worth tending to. You're choosing connection over isolation. You're saying yes to regular reminders of beauty when the world feels ugly.

When sensitivity feels like too much, we'll remind you it's actually a different kind of strength.

Depression has moved back in.

It’s moved in, but not like a polite houseguest who calls ahead and asks if it's okay to stop by. More like that friend from college that you've been trying to slowly cut ties with—the frustrating one who unexpectedly shows up with three suitcases & texts from the BART station that they're "staying 4 a while; hope that's okay!! 😘😘😘"

The return of my depression is interesting (& by interesting I mean deeply annoying) because depression hasn't been my main mental health companion for over a decade. From eleven years old and onward, sure—I knew depression intimately. Painfully. We had our routines, our patterns, and our seasons when my family knew that I was going to be largely non-functional and sometimes unable to go to school. Once bipolar disorder and schizoaffective disorder entered the picture, mania and psychosis became my more frequent visitors. Depression, seemingly clocking itself as a basic bitch, stepped aside.

But this year? Depression has claimed nearly permanent residency. It's been hanging around for months now. Honestly, I'd forgotten how exhausting it is.