I'm stuck in an apartment I haven't been able to afford to live in for over a year, bills are getting nearly impossible to manage, I have more debt than I think I can ever pay off, and because of my depression, I can't find the energy or state of mind to go looking for a cheaper place to live, if such an animal exists. It also keeps me from having the energy or drive to do my writing; not even poems. I also don't have the energy, most days, to do any chores I need to do. The few rituals I manage to do give me just enough energy to get through the days, or do some small chore if I'm really lucky. No matter what I'm doing, I feel like I'd rather be doing something else. When I sleep, I don't want to wake up, but if I sleep too long, I get more headaches than normal. When I wake up, half the days it takes me 15 minutes to decide what to eat because it takes that long to get enough of an appetite to actually make a decision.
I've been meaning to go to the clinic, take advantage of this expensive fucking Medicare shit to see about getting some anti-depressants, but I just find it so hard to get up early enough. I've even been unable to get up early enough to call the food bank for help.
What's worse, Ian - the head-mate to whom my ability to feel romantic love permanently bonded to for some reason - is never around, so I haven't had so much as a crush for months. Romantic love used to be a huge defining thing for me; I used to always have several crushes, fueling lots of poetry and art.
I feel like the depression is taking away everything that makes me who I am, and leaving this passionless shell behind. Fighting it just seems to speed up the process.
So how can I be really thankful for anything, when I feel so empty and hollow? The only passion I ever feel anymore is when one of us gets angry. Laughter helps me feel better for a short time, but it feels false, like some kind of drug that doesn't last more than a few minutes at a time.
God fucking dammit... there was a time, years ago, when I kept feeling highly angsty, driven to extremes of emotions by the tug-of-war between my passions and my depression. It was a roller-coaster ride, and I hated it. How could I have known that one day I would look back at those times with jealousy for my past self. When I was feeling both passion and despair at the same time, I was at least feeling something.
Happy frakking Thanksgiving everyone. Sorry for the downer post. I don't like talking about my depression on my blogs, I always worry I'll be percieved as attention-seeking, and I hate that because some people prattle on endlessly about their depression, and I usually assume those people are attention-seekers.
This was cross-posted from http://fayanora.dreamwidth.org/1121831.html
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