This is a Really Real Mental Health Post.

I’ve been really proud of my ability to be alone the last couple of years.

Prior to that things were so bad that being alone just wasn’t a thing I could do.  The depression was too bad.  The thoughts were too loud and too dangerous.   I sunk too low when I was alone.

One of the problems with my depression this winter is that I feel that sort of issue coming back.  I handle the darkness a lot better, but it gets so much darker when I’m alone.

Part of my depression is that I can’t really figure out what to do, so occupying my brain becomes nearly impossible.  Nothing holds my attention, nothing seems interesting.  My thoughts race and it’s very hard to stay grounded.  I have the materials for diamond painting and chainmaille sitting right beside me, but even once I pull them out I can’t stay engrossed.  I’ve tried video games, but there’s just nothing holding me to one game.  I can only work out for so many hours in a day.  Writing only takes so long, and there’s only so much to write about.

And when I’m alone I’m just not sure what to do with myself.

Sometimes I can get into a project around the house but other times that takes more energy than I feel like I have.  Sometimes I just want to crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head, but while I’m there all I can do is ruminate over and over about why it would be easier to just disappear.

Why everyone would be better off without me.

And why it’s ridiculous that at 37 years old I still can’t really handle being alone without spiraling.

I hate this.

I feel like the years where I thought I was doing so much better were just a fluke, just a lie my brain told me to help me survive Parker’s death and that this is the reality, this is how it is going to be.

I don’t want to have to make plans with people to minimize the time I spend by myself.

I miss the times when I actually enjoyed the quiet down time.

I’m so tired.