Thus far January has been a banner fucking month for me.
The kerfluffle a week ago, some other stuff I don’t feel comfortable talking about publicly, it’s gathered around me like a storm.
Thankfully I’m stable. But I’m just becoming so incredibly sad about things. I wouldn’t even dare to call it depression-just this overwhelming, sticky sadness that weighs my limbs down and makes me not want to move, uninterested in doing much of anything, except maybe drinking my face off.
Heh. Maybe it is depression after all.
I know change is good. I know I haven’t been happy with certain things. But sweet crap, haven’t I had enough change lately? I’m tired-the kind of tired sleep doesn’t fix. My heart is heavy and I just don’t know how to expel the ghost wrapped around it.
I feel helpless, and alone, and not a little useless. And I hate it. I hate swimming in a pool of nothing like this. I hate this need, this thirst that cannot be slaked.
I’ll shake it off. Somehow I always do. I just desperately hope that this isn’t a portent of what the rest of this year will look like. I deserve one normal year like everyone else gets.