Sometimes I’m sad for no reason.
Sometimes I’m sad for perfectly good reasons.
I sit in my office and press “refresh” on Facebook because I’m lonely.
I’m just me.
Currently, my depression is rearing its ugly, mean, little head, and I’m angry at it. And I’m sad, too, all at the same time because that’s depression, isn’t it? And anxiety? We blame ourselves for situations beyond our control — that was the biggest revelation of my life when I realized depression and anxiety weren’t my fault — and in blaming ourselves, perpetuate the cycle.
I’m currently depressed about my writing because it’s going nowhere. No. Where. At. All. I’m not writing, I’m not revising, I’m not doing anything. And it’s frustrating to know that I have good work gone wanting, and bad work, too, but work, all work, really, just there, and I’m here. Not working.
And because I’m depressed, I can’t write. So I turn to this blog so I’m producing something out of nothing.
I need a tea, I think, and more of the books I’m reading (Longbourn and Anne of Green Gables). I need out of my head.