There are moments when I sit in front of my laptop, or stare at my journal, for hours before a full sentence has been completed. All I want to do is transfer all my thoughts into words. It shouldn’t be this complicated. It is almost to the point of infuriating. I feel like I have to beg my own brain to work with me. How ridiculous is that?
Truthfully, as I really think about it, it could be my depression making an attempt to crawl its way back to the front lines of my life. The more I think about it the more I realize writing does become more challenging for me when depression is involved. The joy I feel when writing quickly diminishes, apathy abruptly sets in, then it cripples my mind to the point where physical symptoms emerge and it’s literally painful to get out of bed in the morning.
I truly hope that isn’t the case. I really don’t want to deal with it, again. I cannot allow depression and anxiety to dictate my life anymore than it already has. Fifteen years of feeling like a prisoner within my own mind is long enough.