march 16th

12:09pm

i’ve handled this depression period “well”. i haven’t crashed out, i haven’t lost or quit my job, i haven’t hurt myself (i don’t tend to physically hurt myself, but i have a history of self destruction), i bought groceries, i cleaned (some of) the house over the weekend—things i couldn’t achieve in this state last year. that’s pretty cool, even if the depression still feels the same.

what i haven’t been good at is leaving the house or writing or drawing or painting. i just hate leaving the house unless it’s to go to work. i think it’s a comfort thing; i’m very familiar with work, i have a desk, i have a place that’s always and only mine. and my boss is great, and i don’t hate my job. it’s comfortable and beneficial and i can manage that.

but i couldn’t go to walmart until my brother needed to go and so we went together. i couldn’t go to the store to get a painting framed until my mom showed up at my house and she was going out anyways and so i tagged along. i know homebodies exist and that’s normal, but i’m becoming a genuine recluse. i don’t mind it, but i know that’s a problem. i’m twenty-six, i should be living. but im exhausted of living. i’m not very good at it.

i’ve gotta finish the Hettie edits tonight. i believe that i have the kindest and most patient editor in the entire world, but i need to lock in for her. i’ve commissioned her service and i can’t roll out of bed or off the couch to do the easiest part of writing the story? that’s pathetic. i’m supposed to be a writer, so i need to write. and why wouldn’t i? i love it, all of it.

i have been reading. mostly posts, only one chapter of Twice Lost during the past week. that’s a shame—i’m loving the book. maybe it’s that i think it’s a waste to read it while i can’t feel the love i know is there.

maybe that’s why i keep giving up on dating, too.