I have baked a few times. Cupcakes, brownies, challah. I even bought a popsicle cake pan set once and made those. For the most part, I have used mixes from a box, although with chocoloate mint brownies and challah, I have ventured out into real recipe territory.
How simple is baking from a box? Open the box, add two or three things, stir, insert into oven…
And, then, it’s done. You don’t have to mess with it again.
I wish fixing my brain were that easy. I mean, I know, I KNOW that it isn’t. But, I desperately want it to be. I want to follow all of the directions precisely, mix it all up, bake it, frost it, and BOOM. The cake is done. The brain is fixed.
I tricked myself into thinking that I had baked a cake. That all the work I’d done was final. Sure, it had been a long process. There were multiple layers, filling, frosting. Hell, maybe I’d even made fondant or marzipan flowers. It wasn’t easy. I’d screwed up along the way, left in a bit of eggshell, burnt the edges. But, it was still a cake, and it was finished.
This week, I realized that I really didn’t bake a cake at all. I don’t know what I did. I don’t have an analogy that works.
It was a rough week. My brain was fuzzy again. I started remembering the feeling of despair. As much as I hated it, it felt like an old friend. I don’t want that.
I think this is a recipe I will have to rewrite again and again every day of my life. Never done.
Every day, I will end up with a cake, though. Each cake will be more delicious than the last one because I will learn from my mistakes.