Let me draw you a small picture of my depression

I always make my blog posts here like I’m some sort of famous writer or something… I’m always thinking “Oh I have to tell a story. I have to entertain my readers.”

I’m happy y’all are reading but I have to remind myself of the reason I created this blog in the first place.

Just to write.

Just to release the words inside. They usually come out nice but I try to “pre-nice” them and it doesn’t work that way because they are usually quite jumbled in my head with FEELINGS until I sort them out on paper. Or in this case… the screen.

Today is Tuesday. I need to wash my hair. And there is so much hair. I have long hair. It’s a chore.

I need to fight depression today. When I get out of the tub my bed will beckon and it’s a mess. My sheet is coming off and there’s crap on the floor. Dishes on the side table. The minute I sit down on my bed for a justifiable rest ( you know… tired from washing my hair) I’ll begin to drown in the reminders that I am indeed a LLLLOOOOSSSEEERRR.

You can’t even make your bed. You can’t even put your dishes away (the kitchen looks worse) you can’t pick up the floor.

You can’t

You can’t

You can’t.


That’s what’s I’ll hear and it will suck me under.

Depression is not just how you’re feeling. It’s mostly what you’re hearing. What you’re BELIEVING. There are others present. Other yous. Mean yous. With voices that sound like dead relatives and ex’s.

And there’s little help.

But if I turn on ALL the lights. And some music. And maybe wake up Grant. For a hug…….

I can clean by my chair first. And then sit in it and rest. With a timer. 15m. Then I’ll challenge myself to only pick up dishes around the house. That’s it.

Then I’ll rest again. But just 15m. In my clean chair.

You have to stay off of the app with the monsters aka Facebook. Where the most evil of evil are.

Remember to never read comments under any posts anywhere. Because that’s where the dead play.

And then after fifteen minutes, do something else small. Water the plants. Or change the laundry. Hang up five shirts. Replace the can liner.

And try to clear a road for the good voices. They’re there. They’re always there. They never leave. You just sometimes can’t hear them for the loud, angry, hateful, judgmental ones.

But just like in life, when you clean the dirty dishes your beautiful wooden table can be seen.

When you hang the clothes and water the plants all the pretty starts to shine through.

And remember. The bad words can’t kill you. So don’t stop answering that timer. One dish at a time you’ll make it past them.

And slowly the sun will come out. And we will live to blog another day.

I love you self. We got this.

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