I’m about to go to my therapy appointment.
Feeling a bit… shall we say… internal, today.
Self-analyzing, philosophical. Quiet.
I’m also truly there again.
Not completely, it’s only a minor slope. But it’s a definite downward lull.
But then again, I do.
Why else would I feel on edge?
Depression and anxiety feed off of one another, trapping me between a rock and a hard place. An immovable object against an unstoppable force.
I’m find joy in multiple things today.
I feel joy in the lesson I’m about to prepare.
Joy in the donut I’m going to eat after I get back from therapy.
Joy in the book I have to read.
The dog staring up at me with big brown, curious, loving eyes.
The options, choices to be made.
The possibility that I could work on my writing today.
Even though I probably won’t.
I don’t have any energy. It’s not just physical. Emotional energy. I’m out of it. I’m not certain if its depression, anxiety, or ME/CFS. Perhaps all of them at once. But I’m drained of the ability to move, motivation, energy in general. The strength to lift my limbs. The world is a murky pool of molasses, my body a thick, awkward figure of solid iron and cotton balls.
Not of desire. I’m not robbed of that. I want to create. To work on my writing. To piece together my lesson. I feel inspired.
What’s the point of all this blogging stuff going on here?
Is this post relevant?
Is it pointless?
Am I complaining, yammering, going on and on about myself?
Or am I connecting?
I’m not entirely certain.
I have these moments.
Where I’m outside of myself.
Wondering, what am I doing?