Yes. Yesterday was rough. Could you tell? I was in fine form. But that's me. I don't know how to smooth my rough edges. Or at the very least I don't know where the line is.
Still, in this day and edge, I don't think we as a society have a line. We are told to be ourselves. I was. We are told to be authentic. I was. We are told to be or do many things. I did.
I can't take any of it back. I could delete it. But I won't.
I am a depressive. In case you were wondering. I don't just have depression or episodic depression or situational depression. I am to my very core, depressed.
This very morning my depression is manifested in an obsessive anxious panic. This has lasted about two weeks. It has been very severe. Like diarrheic severe. Every little thing is a major life defeating event. Mowing a yard is nightmarish because of my perceived mistakes. A haircut's results has brought me to near tears. The expectation of losing or having to put to sleep my best friend, my cat Snugglepuss, is devastating. And so many other things...they kill me. Bit by bit. They kill me. The me that I will never know.
But on the bright side, if there is one, I have accomplished 40 days in the wilderness of writing. Albeit, I am more than upset that I wasn't able to accomplish 40 days in a row.
I'll stop now. For the moment.