Adventures in depression

I have been in the process of making one cake for three days now and I’ve only got as far as soaking some dried fruit. It’s two in the afternoon and it’s taking a conscious effort to not close all the curtains and crawl back into bed. I am sat in my dent in the sofa, with my body so very heavy that the thought of even standing is rather amusing. 

There are a lot of things about my outlook on life that I considered normal for a very long time. I thought that everyone felt so heavy. I thought that everyone had to put up such a fight before they could bring them self to do laundry or shower or replenish the cutlery drawer. 

I’ve been trying to find an excuse to tell my friends as to why I have hardly spoken to anyone for months. I can’t think of anything that doesn’t sound completely pathetic, so I will continue in my silence. My mind is trying to convince me that they’re all better off without me in their lives anyway, so I don’t even feel bad for not talking to people. I just get a little more lonely. But I can cope with lonely. Lonely is just me. Lonely is easier than rejection and easier than enduring the awkward conversation in which I admit that being alive is taking a LOT of effort.

…I am not terribly fond of my brain at the moment. It’s making life a bit difficult.

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