Granola Bat

Overall, in the last few months, things haven't been so much rough as they've just been... Mush. Like... unseasoned mashed potatoes. Equally joyless and painless. Equally without flavor or meaning. At least when I felt like shit last week, I felt something. It's pretty hard to figure out a balance of honesty about the natural pathos in my life and in my head, and maintain some level of aspirational-status that's generally a goal when you want to finally get around to monetizing your writing skill. And pretty much nobody wants to be what I've mostly felt like lately. Here's the thing, though. It ain't a sprint, and change comes from choice. Have I really been wallowing in same-old, or have I just not been paying attention? Here's a challenge if you're relating to any of this: Count ten things you're grateful for. Right now. Scratch them down on a Post-It, the back of a napkin, whatever you've got. Feel free to share in the comments

"Depression steals joy, but it also steals time. Depression steals time in my life that I would otherwise use creatively, to write, to read, to grow. It’s nearly impossible for me to be sitting here getting these words out of my fingers onto the screen — I’ve nodded off at least twice, I keep deleting things and re-writing them, not knowing what to say because I feel like it’s the same old story, told for the billionth time by the millionth person. Days go by and all feel the same because they are the same. When nothing new is created, a day is wasted. It’s something I’ve felt for years, and it’s something I feel even more acutely when I am not creating because I am stuck in a dark hole of depression, feeling like I’m without a good word to say. Depression steals my words from me." Full post here

I haven't been so compelled to write that it wouldn't let me do literally anything else, for quite some time. I'd much rather still be sleeping. Unfortunately (Fortunately?) something broke in me last night. That dam that holds in all the roiling mass of... nightmares? screaming? inner demons? Anyway, yep, that broke after threatening to all week. I hate it when I go from outwardly functional to not being able to turn off the waterworks for hours. David just sat there, alternately holding me and letting me fidget-pace around, streaming frighteningly-quiet tears and sobs, unable to stop the word-vomit of every little thing I usually keep in. If I'm honest, I haven't been in a safe place to actually let go or process what's actually going on in here since about 2008. It's now abundantly clear that this man loves every bit of me, even the fears and darknesses I haven't even told my therapist about yet. Even the Jerry Springer-level family drama that