I'm not dead. Just depressed. Last week has not been the greatest, with things at work and home. Nothing significantly traumatic, like a death, but lots of stress and feeling forever alone.
But I think that's all over now. I filed my papers, said my pieces, and I feel better now. And through it all, I was able to stay true to my one hour a day of writing. Whether or not that hour was productive is it a bit fuzzier.
That's the funny thing about depression. It's like a force. You try and combat it, and it doesn't bat an eye. You bring in reinforcements and it shrinks back... for a while. Then it waits and watches for the opportune moment and then attacks. It usually won't win, but that's not what it wants. It wants to wear you down. It plays the long game.
I guess the key is, if you don't want to bring in stronger reinforcements, is to wait it out. Things will get better. You might take some action, you might not. But waiting it out tends to work. The problem is each time, it seems to come back stronger. And my question is, at what point will it become so strong that it overwhelms me.
Well, I still got a lot to write. I got my trunk novel, I got a few short stories, I got my main novel. I do what I can to stave off the demons. I'm hoping there'll be fewer demons in the future, but past experiences says I still got battles to fight.
Labels: whining
