I know I've posted at least once before about how my depression affects my reading. I know things are going to get bad when I don't feel like reading anything at all. The fact that I'm pretty competitive about my reading--i.e. I go on listchallenges.com every chance I get and feel horrid about all the books I haven't yet read--certainly doesn't help matters.
So here I am again, stuck. I've got all these books strewn around my bed and on my Kindle and on my laptop, sort-of read but not really. Nothing sounds good. It's like when you're sick and you know you should eat something just so that you can keep functioning but nothing sounds good.
You know what I might do? I might return everything I have checked out and start fresh.
Or not. Who knows? I don't.
A lot of people think that depression is invisible. I look at myself now and I can see it in my face. I look less alive. Less me. Like I'm not entirely inside my body right now. When I get really depressed, it's easier just to retreat into a quiet, sleeping place. Unfortunately, I'm not fully present in my life then. But that's what happens. And until someone finds a magic wand to wave and rid the world of all illnesses, that's what I'm going to have to keep doing in order to keep going. Because if I don't lull that part of myself to sleep, it takes me to a very dark and dangerous place.
So if I'm quiet these next few days, you know why.
Catch you on the flip side.