Well here we are again. I’m not excited to write right now. I’ve been lacking excitement all around lately. I’ve been mopey and disillusioned. Sometimes life is hard. I know you know.

But it’s okay. It’s part of the process. I get that. I accept it. Even in this sad, sorry state. I get it. It’s okay.

Sad and sorry, jeeez. Don’t worry about me though. I’m not a lost cause. My sadness has a meaning. It’s working towards resolution. It’s probably for the betterment of myself.

So here I sit, willing to do not what I necessarily want to do, but what I think will help. This is an act of motivation. If only twenty minutes today, at least it is something. Okay, I lie. I’ve had more than twenty minutes of motivation. But I hope things change soon. Tomorrow, next week.

That’s sounds so futile. ‘I hope things change’. As if it has nothing to do with me and what I can control. This is an act of me wanting to regain control.

I still need to make a list of the things that excite me. Maybe I’ll be motivated to work on a project when I find that. Maybe some drawings – those feel long overdue.

I feel let down by people. Maybe I expect too much from others. I’m sure they offer what they have to give, and maybe it’s wrong of me to demand more. Maybe I should just learn my lesson, that they should not be worked with. If I can’t trust you to do what you say you will, I really don’t want to work with you. I don’t want to be your parent. You know?

Anyhow, that is an aspect of my condition, not the sole reason or cause. It’s just another straw on the back of this camel.

[I sit in my flannel at this kitchen table. It’s an old table. I used to sit around it when I was a kid. (No, not a goat but a young child) It was in my family home growing up. Eventually we upgraded and the table made it into storage. And then when it came time to move into a home of my own, voila, the grand triumphant return of the table. It’s a good table.

My mum is very protective of her things. Always with the table cloths. I get it now. This table, here naked and exposed, has probably taken more damage in twenty weeks with my than twenty years with my family. Scratches, scuffs. But I like it naked. It’s a choice. I choose not to cover it up. It takes a beating, but I’m okay with that. It feels better. It might not live as long, but it sees the sweaty hands and glue. Maybe I’m wrong about this. Maybe I’m failing to protect something that needs it. Maybe I’m not valuing it the way it should be. Well, I have no intention of covering it.]

I return to the now. To my feelings. I’m honestly okay. Just navigating my ability to relate to people. Accepting the consequences of my actions. Contemplating how to move forward.

I see my jealousy peak it’s head up. Maybe I fail to recognize what it really is. I don’t know if I’m jealous of another or if it is sadness about people moving on without me. Is this what it feels like to be left behind? Is this what it’s like when someone breaks up with me?

So much of it is imagined. At my worst I hunt for reasons to justify my depression. I make up facts that make me feel sad. It is not a good quality. At least I can recognize it. But I wonder if that is even true. I wonder if my sadness really is justified. Maybe me thinking that I am hunting for reasons to be sad is the justification for me actually hating myself? Wow. That is hard to follow. It is a rabbit hole of self-loathing.

Jeeeeez, good to pull myself out of that one. I apologize. It’s not so bleak. But it is an honest expression of my reality at the moment. But really, I’m good. Actually, I’m getting better. I have things to look forward to. This opportunity to rest is such a blessing. I’m so fucking incredibly lucky. This life is such a gift. Wow. I have been gifted so much.

I ate delicious food today. I talked to good friends. I practiced my breathing and meditation. I also laid on my back feeling sad, but that’s okay.

All in all, life remains precious. What an incredibly fortunate position I find myself in.

I am embarrassed that I am complaining about my first world problems. Part of me it super-reluctant to share this with you because you might think less of me.

That’s okay.