Today I am feeling down as all heck on my writing. Actually been feeling like this of a couple of weeks now. Feel like I’m wasting my time and effort to keep writing. This is a not better thought.
Here’s the better thought. I’m not suicidal.
A year to 18 months ago, feeling like this would have lead to almost constant thoughts of suicide. Now it doesn’t. This doens’t mean I don’t think about killing myself ever, but it’s mostly in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep and I’m feeling bad, and generally I can acknowledge the thought and remind myself that suicide is not the answer. I may finally have learnt that I can face these bad feelings for what they are. Feelings.
And what are feelings? Mostly temporary.
Yes I feel bad in the here and now. But at some point that is going to change. I’m not sure when, but it will change. I feel bad about my writing today. Tomorrow or the next day, I’ll love it again. That’s what living with depression means. You live with it, every day. Even the bad ones.
Right well, that’s me done, going to move along and try to find an activity that makes my feelings change.