I’m on another bout of depression. It brings me to tears when all I’m doing is working on my bullet journal; when I’m happy I’m motivated enough to keep working on something new.
My depression keeps me away, makes me angry, makes me miserable. Thank God, my mother understands now and does not get her feelings hurt when I tell her I don’t want to talk.
I wanted to leave my apartment today, get some coffee, read or maybe write out in public. I didn’t.
I wanted to go to the gym. I still might, despite the fact that it’s almost 9 P.M., but the motivation isn’t really there.
I was having fun talking to a new guy I met last week, I haven’t been able to bring myself to message him back in two days.
Depression holds me, and I usually escape its grasp in a day. I’ve got practice.
But I can’t fight today.
I couldn’t fight yesterday.
Nor the day before.
I’m too tired.