Filed under "The Mental Game"
It isn't really that hard to keep on going, is it? People do maintain their lives while managing some pretty stressful situations, don't they? What is the matter with me? I think I'm depressed.
Yes, things have not worked out the way I had hoped (sorry for being vague, but I'm not quite ready to discuss this particular issue at the moment), and it is no small thing I'm faced with. The timing for this new crisis, is as always, fracking unbelievable. However, it is also not the end of the world and many people have been dealt much worse in life.
I admit it, I've been alternating between avoidance and wallowing. I've gained six pounds due to stress/grief-induced-chocolate consumption. I've fallen behind in my language and yoga studies, and even dropped my entire semester of language classes. I haven't touched my novel. The only reason I've written any short stories is that I do still make it to my writing class every week. I've logged a ridiculous number of hours on Skyrim, but I've yet to finish the damned game. I weep a lot.
This is one of those moments where I need to break out a little tough love (or a can of whoop-ass) and use it on myself. Not-so-deep-down, I'm not at all convinced I can do it. Part of me is ready to adopt another cat, gain another twenty pounds, call it a mid-life crisis and surrender utterly to the madness and self-loathing. I didn't say this was a proud moment in my life.
There's a fork in the road, people. I've got to make a decision, got to decide what kind of person I'm going to be. I can give in to the familiar and easy or choose something better. I could wallow in grief forever- I've had my share of it the last three years. Still, it would be a damned shame, wouldn't it? Wouldn't it?
Thankfully, I have a husband whom I don't want to disappoint. And a sister who wants a creative business partner. And friends and family.
It is all so close...if I can just get out of bed.