Still here, still sad. in The Napkin.

Yesterday was another: I did everything I could, everything right, and when it was 9PM, time to zone out or zone into some entertainment - I couldn’t. I got anxious for a few hours, making bedtime difficult.

That title. Talking about depression makes me depressed. Though, not talking about all clearly isn’t helping. Might have gone quieter than I realized.

On paper, I’m doing better. Such a scary thing to look at a calendar from the past year or many years past and see.... almost nothing. For a year now, I’ve been tracking more and more. Sleep, food, activities, media, mood. Last month, I even got 25 days straight sober. That’s almost most of the month. Gosh, that sounds good on paper.

I’m on another dry streak, and well. I want to do better than last month. Gets so tedious and boring at times. Sometimes I stay productive because nothing pleasurable is pleasurable. Really want me to talk about how the sink is clear of dishes? Wanna hear my adventures in vacuuming? Wanna hear how my plants are doing?

Feeling creatively blank sucks when it is something you rely on to amuse yourself.

Well, better eat my oatmeal and hope I can drag my bum to the gym reasonably soon. To think I used to love the gym. Oh, I still feel great afterwards. I… don’t get as much out of the actual process lately. I want that gymrat feeling back.

Hell, I’d like some of that defiant positivity back. Bet if I read some of my old motivational stuff, I’d roll my eyes so hard right now.