Ever just feel crummy for no apparent reason? I started off fine, but now I’m just kinda “meh.” Is this a mood swing, hormonal thing? Is this what depression feels like? Is this just a sinus headache, throat hurty thing? WHAAATTT?
I want to be a writer. The way Toni Morrison and Alice Walker string together sentences, the way Audre Lorde wrote passages, the way Ta-Nehisi Coates pulls you in and makes you lust for more words. But I don’t know if I’ll ever get there. [Side note: today feels like one big day of self-doubt.]
How do you get better at something you don’t do? And why don’t I? Busyness is a valid reason. But, I think, there are two others.
- I’m so freaking exhausted by the time I get home – and I still have to be a wife and mom – as half-assed as I think I approach that some days. There’s no brain power left over to sit and write and be beautiful and engaging and bright. I’m lucky to get through Little Einsteins with Kidlet without passing out asleep and crushing the warm little body snuggled into mine.
- Do you know what writing is? It’s thinking, and I don’t have the energy or the inclination to think. I want to compartmentalize and deny and not admit there are things my brain is churning around that I may not have the wherewithal to face. I have five-minute therapy sessions in my head where I think, I guess, therapeutic thoughts, and then I put it away. Because I don’t feel like I have the time or the tools to draw it back out and deal with it.
Sigh. And maybe if I had a room of my own in which to write it’d be better. [even I recognize that thinly veiled attempt to pass the buck. Writing in your bed with your sneezing, snorting, sinus-draining husband next to you because your unwanted houseguest is STILL in what is the guest bedroom/your office does suck, but come on, it’s not everything that’s wrong.]
Gah, I’m in such a mood these days, and I hate it, and all the while I’m hating it, I can’t seem to slap myself out of it.
So I ask again: is this what depression looks like?