Thanks for Zootopia and Rogue One but otherwise, you can get fucked.
So what happened to me? Long story short: Depression. That lovely “high functioning” kind that allows you just enough energy to barely keep your life together, but turns every little setback into another sign that you’re a worthless waste of spunk. A lot of beating myself up for pretty trivial bullshit, and a lot of guilt-driven procrastination. It’s not a mindset that fosters productivity.
I… tend to not talk a lot about myself. Partly because my issues tend to be a bit odd (Explaining the death of a loved one via the intricacies of long-distance online bisexual polyamorous relationship is not a conversation I like having). Partly because my life is, overall, pretty darn good. Which, of course makes me feel bad about feeling bad, and the whole flushing cycle begins again. Add a dash of OH GOD SOMEONE FUCK ME, a lot of self-esteem and social anxiety issues (shh, don’t look desperate!) and voila: one hot mess.
So, I’m finally getting therapy. The first few sessions have been highly productive in breaking up the log jam of negative emotions that have been dominating my life lately. I’m not back to “Q1 2014” levels yet, but thanks to a couple little strategies, my kitchen and bathroom are clean, I can see the floor of my bedroom, and I’m making headway on the rats-nests of unopened bills and paperwork stuffed in the nooks and crannies of my apartment.
I’m not back in the groove creatively just yet, and thanks to insurance issues, I have to start over again with a new therapist.
Still, I’m starting to doodle again, so that’s a good sign.
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7 years, 3 months ago
06 Jan 2017 03:36 CET
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