Stream of Consciousness

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Somebody just asked me if I'm doing Nanowrimo and it legit made me even more depressed.

To be fair, I've generally been quite depressed for a while. For approximately 12 years, if we're being technical about it. But also for a few months, because this year I have had good weeks as well as bad weeks.

It's so bad right now that I'm psyching myself up to do some basic housework through my writing. The agreement I have with myself is that I will write do one or two things around the house for every few paragraphs. And on that note...

*Pause*

Well, the worst of it is done. Just the time consuming bits left now.

It should be a good weekend considering all the good things - even great things - that have been happening. And yet, I feel like a trash fire. I find myself resenting everyone and everything. I find myself losing my goddamn mind.

It's only for another month, tries the voice of reason in my head. And I groan, because ANOTHER MONTH? 28 further days of madness.

But these are distorted thoughts. And I need to feed the cats and fill their water. And buy smokes.

*Pause*

And now I'm typing on the way to the shops.

I'm worried about my eldest. He isn't adjusting to the presence of other cats (or at least, so many of them). He won't eat with them. Won't hang out around them. And he frequently growls. (Keep walking, keep walking).

I'm annoyed that I have to do this - coax myself along like I'm a child. Provide incentives to make basic daily stuff not feel like an insurmountable mountain.

And I'm laughing at the idea of doing Nanowrimo, when even blogtober was pretty much impossible. Also I don't know who picked November. It's always been literally the busiest month.

[Enters comfort zone, which consists of Chris Breechen articles about the sux of Nano.]

I was almost at the shops when I realized I've put my shorts on inside out. Again. Guess I'll be taking the non-main-road way home. (In my defence, the cat litter dude turned up right on time, and I had to hastily drag pants on.)

Stuff like this doesn't bother me, but I also wonder whether it reflects on my recovery. Does it *gasp* make me an incompetent adult?

Well, no. But it's one of those perception aligning with reality situations.

(So tempted to also buy chocolate but I must desist. I mustt!)

One of my best friends à, has finally remembered to stop asking "what happened?" when I say I'm depressed. And it's so frustrating for her to remember it because if there was a reason, one could get rid of the depression by resolving the reason. But nah. My kind of depression - chronic depression - isn't "situational", as we call it. It's just there, regardless of the good and the bad.

I mean, I'm starting an exciting new job and going on what promises to be a very fun date tonight, and look at me. Nothing but flatline.

I'm done with the shop and the alternate road home is empty AF. Time to light the cigarette I promised myself and not give in to the urge to scratch my legs in public.

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