If you are one of the three or four people who read my blog, you might remember my posting from back in August. If you are new here, you can probably scroll down and read it because, in spite of my claim that the time that I was going to endeavor to blog more, I failed.
It would be easy to blame Facebook. Easy to blame Kerbal Space Program. Easy to blame the election cycle. Easy to blame them all and, in fact, it would all be true. However, the underlying cause of that failing is myself.
That's how depression works.
I haven't blogged about it, and will continue to not blog about it for at least a few more months yet, but my life has been a bit of a shitstorm for the past several years. And that change in my life has led to depression and all that implies.
Not sleeping. Not eating the way that I should. Waiting for the sink to be completely full of dishes or waiting until I have run out of socks to finally do the things. Becoming angry more easily. Crying more easily. Not being able to start or complete projects. Not being able to find the words to explain what is going on in my brain, or rather, simply not having enough motivation to sit down and actually write those words
Perhaps it's not clinical depression. I haven't sought out professional assistance because, unlike clinical depression which can hammer you for no good reason, this has a definite cause and, once that cause has been resolved, I have every confidence that the symptoms of depression will go with it.
In the meantime, though, I struggle.
And here I struggle some more. Trying to turn things about by actually writing. I had told myself that I was going to set out a schedule. To the gym twice a week. Walk away for the Internet at 9pm to do those other things. If I'm not going to bed by 11 at least be productive by reading or writing rather than more time on Facebook.
Aaaaaaand. . . . it's 2 in the morning and I'm still arguing online with some Nazi-apologist shitwank.
There were several iterations of that before I was able to actually sit down and write this. Maybe it's a breakthrough. A turning of the time. In truth, the shitstorm does have actual, functional, signs of its impending resolution. Or perhaps this is another abortive attempt. It doesn't feel like before. Now that I am actually in front of my keyboard writing this, the words flow easier than they had been.
It's a start.