I know it’s here.
I’ve been trying to ignore the fact that it’s here, even as my apartment gets progressively more untidy, as my interest in things I love wanes, as my sleep schedule upends itself and I lie in bed with a book at 3 AM, too exhausted to comprehend the words on the page, but somehow completely incapable of turning off the lamp and going to sleep. I slog through the next day and end up taking a nap…or two…
Depression, you motherfucker, oh, how I dislike you.
Work is stressful. My family is stressful. Writing isn’t stressful, because I’m not doing any, so that’s stressful. I am worried about money, about traveling a lot in the coming months, about my good but aging car’s ability to keep up. I am taking too many things very personally and of course, depression loves to cling to those things so it can trot it out as part of it’s You Suck And Here’s Why parade.
I realize it would not solve anything at all, but the temptation to pack up my cats, a portion of my personal library, and my good cast-iron Dutch Oven, and then run off to an internet-free cabin in the remote reaches of northern Norway is fairly freakin’ intense right about now. I would read all the books I have been ignoring, I would make hearty stews and lumpy homemade bread, I would drink copious amounts of tea, and it would be nice and peaceful. Ahhhhh.
Yeah. That cannot happen, for a thousand reasons, but wow is it ever my happy place.
I have done good things lately. I went out Tuesday and had fun with my friends. I repaired a broken hook on my favorite good purse. I put on a full face of makeup, stuck a flower in my hair, and went to the Gayborhood for a Drag Race finale viewing party. I figured out how to make my Kindle stop sucking down its battery in a matter of three hours of not even being used. I’ve done a couple of translations of Norwegian pop songs for fun, and they actually turned out well. I made a couple of new acquaintances while playing Pokemon Go. My car broke down, and I was able to get myself out of the house and go get it fixed the next day. I stuck Instagram sticker hats on photos of my cats; this one has made me laugh intermittently for the last two days –
Yeah, that’s my phone background now.
But none of the good things seem to matter regardless of how hard I try, and I am sad and I am tired and weepy and I keep thinking of every tiny little mistake I have ever made and I just, I really wish my brain wasn’t like this.
I am clinging to ridiculously trivial and self-indulgent plans – I ordered a wig for my Halloween costume and I’m going to figure out how to style it. I’m going to make pasta puttanesca for the first time, even though I’ve never been a huge fan of anchovies. I have a couple of knitted gifts I want to make. I have a book for book club to read, theater tickets to purchase, and an upcoming book release I want to read and review.
I just have to…slog through this thing, first.
I don’t know how to end this entry. I don’t have a pithy fun line or quip to stick here and wrap it all up. I’m sitting here in what passes for pajamas, I just drank half a carton of orange juice from the carton, I am tired, but I don’t want to turn out the lights.
That’s not a metaphor, or, well, it wasn’t, but you know what, yeah, that’s apt.
I am tired. But I don’t want to turn out the lights.
I’ll be back.