It’s how I feel. Disconnected. From everything, even the things I love. My writing. Music. TV shows. My kid. My Cats.

From the things I don’t love so much. People. Housework. Errands.


It started with the depression months ago, when I swapped Cymbalta for Lexapro and the Lexapro did more harm than good. Then I was without an anti depressant for over a month and things just got worse and worse. Followed by the hellish holidays.

Now…I am in a depressive bubble nothing can penetrate. I play with my kid and I want it to be fun..But it’s forced. I get out of bed, eventually, wanting to face the day with enthusiasm. It never happens. Everything is forced or non existent and I am frustrated.

Two weeks ago, prior to the holidays, I was low, but now, it’s gutter time. Even that which I felt connected to two short weeks ago now feels alien and threatening and not a comfort. It makes me feel mercurial but I don’t believe I truly am.

I’ve been spending a lot of time on introspection, dissecting my own personality, trying to own the flaws that contribute to the failures in my life. It occurred to me the relationships that instantly failed were started during a winter depression. The ones that succeeded for awhile were all during the spring summer mania. And while I am not in control of this disorder, I still feel shitty that it all comes back to me and my moods and altered mental state. Is it any wonder nothing works out when a man meets me and I am up and lively and interesting…only to find out six months later I am a depressed husk paralyzed by paranoia and anxiety…Never mind I have warned every single one of them just how bad it gets. They never listen and that should be on them. Yet I still feel like a monster.

I don’t think anyone could grasp how much  I hate living this way. I don’t think most even want to try to grasp it. So much easier to believe I am a monster than give me the benefit of the doubt. And while I am flawed and probably monstrous at times…I refuse to believe I am without worth no matter how many people say it, no matter how many failures seem to prove it. I’ve just met some really weak or shallow people who’d rather bail out than see beneath the veil of the illness.

Perhaps my biggest flaw is that I am so comfortable with my own company I’ve never really fought that hard for a relationship. I get lost in my depression and know when I come out of it, I will be there, fuck anyone who can’t deal. Maybe it isn’t being weak that is the big flaw, maybe I am too strong. Being alone simply isn’t a curse for me. I prefer it. Hell, maybe subconsciously I’ve sabotaged my relationships because I’d rather be alone but if they leave me at least I can say I tried.

I am a jigsaw puzzles with missing pieces and extra pieces and there is no way to make it all fit and make sense. I am oddly ok with my own psychological train wreck-yness.

I am NOT okay with this seasonal depression. It needs to fuck off and die.

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