More on depression

It's a seasonal thing, but it's a year-round affliction. I joke that I take enough medication to choke Bambi, but the reality is that it doesn't -- and perhaps shouldn't -- insulate me from my feelings. I know it's genetic and I know that though there is a stigma, there shouldn't be. The more honest I can be about this, hopefully the better I will feel. 

Depression is more than sadness. It's sandbags on each shoulder. It's making yourself get up or staying in bed far longer than you should. It's loved ones asking what they can do and having no answer to give them. I can personify the bitch all I want, but the fact remains that she's a bitch. And a strong one to boot.

Almost New Year

I should say that fall is a very challenging time for me. I guess you could call it seasonal affective disorder, but I just call it being out of sorts. It feels like a slow death, fall, especially in September. So I haven't been writing very much, here or elsewhere.

Depression is slow and languid. It sits with a cigarette smoldering in its hand. It waits for you. It is patient and kind in its way. Depression will be there when everyone else has gone.

Late summer of my laziness

I've been having extreme trouble with motivation lately. For someone who makes their living getting their ass in gear and meeting deadlines, this is not the best malaise.

I never usually have problems making myself work -- especially when it comes to writing. But these days, even doing a flash-fiction piece really took some ass-kicking -- let alone a full-length work.

It's because I'm waiting. Waiting for news. And in the meantime ... yeah. I'll continue to look out the window.