This is a Really Real Mental Health post.
It’s really easy to get wrapped up in crafting. I get to sit in one place and let my creative mind flow, distracting me from whatever else is bothering me.
Distracting me from depression,
Distracting me from life outside of the safe space by the computer.
I just saw a post from this time last year, and I was in the same head space. I am able to peek out for small bits of time and clean the house, or go spend some time with some friends, or do self care in other ways.
And because of that, it is hard to recognize how pervasive the depression has been. I mean, I’m still functioning, so it can’t be THAT bad.
Except I dread leaving the house. Not as bad as it was, but it’s certainly there.
I have to bribe myself into the shower, a part of depression that no one wants to speak out loud because it just seems incomprehensible to those without depression. It seems gross.
Even brushing my teeth takes focus and effort and willpower.
But I don’t FEEL that bad. I’m still smiling and laughing and finding things to be happy about.
My writing is almost non-existent. I just can’t find anything to write about. I can’t find a reason to stop my other forms of creativity and put fingers to keys.
Except this is part of self care too. My writing is a big way that I process. A big way that I pull the blinders off and actually focus on what is happening.
My writing is my place to get really real with, not only everyone else, but also myself.
I’m still not sure how to break this cycle. Leaving the house is hard, going to the gym is harder, socializing feels like a chore.
I went for a walk the other night, and when Mickey was going to meet up with me to walk, we ended up driving to Starbucks instead.
It was just easier than the physical effort of being cold and miserable outside.
I remember a time when I couldn’t walk very far. I remember what it felt like when I started walking further and further distances. I remember what it felt like to have goals and aspirations around fitness.
I have no idea how to get that back.
I have no idea what to set as a goal.
I don’t even know if I care, to be honest.
But I am beating myself up about it. While still making excuses not to go.
I guess I care enough to give myself shit for not doing what I know will help.
This shit is hard, friends. Even when mental illness isn’t trying to kill me,
it’s keeping me from living.