It has been quite a while. The world has changed, and so have I. In some ways that are good. Medication, special treatment, therapy, and a LOT of self-reflection have all started to bring me out of the mire of depression. I'm glad that no one reads this, as the sporadic nature of my posting would be incredibly stressful. My first love had a similar issue with me. I would reach out and send a flurry of friendship and affection, and then I'd disappear. We didn't know about the intensity of my depression, so it just seemed like I didn't care enough to make consistent effort. I didn't argue. I didn't have an answer for that.
It's easy to feel that I'm in the same place even now. On disability from work, spending my days trying to manage small tasks like taking a shower, and entirely uncertain of, and possibly apathetic to, my future. But I'm watching TV with my two dogs pleasantly snoring away at the foot of the bed, and I feel something akin to contentment and gratitude. At least, that's what I think. I'm still uncertain about how to manage such unwieldy things as feelings, so I'm currently relying on a sort of mental calculation to figure out what I think is appropriate.
Wow. Writing that out was...wild.
Anyways, the point is that I'm still trying. Resilient is the word people like to use. I don't want to be resilient. I want to be disgustingly wealthy and laze about all day and never have a care in the world. Since that's not possible, I'll take being resilient, I guess. Outwardly, I may seem just that, and it may be technically accurate, but it sure doesn't align with my feelings.
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