One of the reasons I don't write much at the moment apart from a lack of inspiration is my depression.
I don't even like calling it "my depression" because it makes it seem like it's part of me which is seriously something I don't even want to entertain but I can tell you without a doubt that it's latched onto me for grim death again.
I took three days off this week in anticipation for the long weekend, wanting to make the most of it, and I have literally spent the last two days in absolute misery. I just cannot shake the black dog.
I know that one of my major problems right now is a lack of purpose. I've denied myself my favorite drug, a drug that by all intents and purposes works brilliantly, and instantly provides me with a purpose:
I have denied myself falling in love again.
All I have to do to feel better is to find some poor, broken soul to play the love addict and love avoid game with again and I would at least temporarily put myself out of my own misery.
I'm being stubborn about this though. I'm not letting myself near it. I've created a picture in my head of the perfect guy and the perfect relationship - there's not a guy on this planet that could possibly come near measuring up to that ideal.
I have to constantly remind myself that I set out to heal from a condition once and for all is my purpose no matter how crappy it makes me feel. But it's hard and I honestly feel so alone that I can't recall having company for the last hundred years or so. Or that's how it feels anyway.
I sometimes sit here and wonder how the hell I ended up like this but answering that question is a no-brainer nowadays; I know damn well why.
So I sit around and curse my fate, pick away at all the flaws I can find in my body and and personality, and I make myself miserable because I don't have the daily dose of drama that love and romance in its purest dramatic form used to provide for me.
The only indication I have that I'm making headway with recovery is that I find O so incredibly boring when our lives occasionally still intersect. I marvel at how I played "the game" with this guy but I also feel how that game still pulls at me but it has nothing to do with him. I can see now that it has nothing to do with me ever having loved him. It's a game my heart and soul learned to play at a very early age.
It makes me feel broken. Not in that way that I feel I have a broken heart but broken all over like a delicate porcelain figure covered in so many cracks that looking at it threatens to make it fall apart.
I have a dream y'all, I dream that one that I will be as positive as the affirmations I drench my mind in to counteract the negative self talk and that I on that day will stand up with a huge, genuine smile on my face, so genuine that it echos through my heart and soul in a way I have never thought possible.
But today my friends, and yesterday and the day before that, it was a huge struggle for me to even get out of bed even if the sun has been shining like mad out there just waiting for me start work on getting a healthy spring tan.
Who f***ing cares, right? I don't get to have my "drug" so I'm just gonna sulk and feel superbly crappy.
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