I feel like I've been stuck, mentally, for a long time now. I don't feel like I have much of interest to say anymore. I read other blogs (a metric fuckton of them) and then I come here and I'm all, duh-duh-duh-duh, what do I say, how can I compete with all. those. other. writers? Writers who are more talented (and more coherent) than I am.
So I don't write much. I don't write here, I don't write at the diabetes blog I get paid to write, I just don't say anything.
And I'm not sure why.
I know a lot of it is the depression. It's kicking my ass. I'm in therapy and it does help, but only for a little while, maybe a day, if I'm lucky. I know going back on antidepressants will help a lot, but at the moment, we don't have health insurance and I can't afford the massive amount of money that Cymbalta runs every month. Even with health insurance, it was still $45 a month. Without health insurance, well, I have no idea, since CVS doesn't seem to list the cost of their medications online. I'm sure it's a lot of money. More than I can afford right now.
So I don't write. My fingers stumble on the keyboard when I open the Blogger thingamahoojy. I have no fucking clue what to say, or even if I have anything to say. And it's depressing. I love to write. I love reading the written word, I love playing with the words when I'm the one writing them, to move them around on the page until they convey exactly what I want them to, and this utter inability I have to write right now is really pissing me off. I feel like I've been deserted and I'm really angry about it.
That's why I don't write much here anymore. I don't like what I have to say, I've convinced myself that no one wants to read the blitherings that I can come up with, so I say nothing. Things happen here - nothing dramatic, nothing earth-shattering, but they're funny or intersting or just plain what-the-fuckedness - but I can't seem to get the words onto the screen in any kind of sensible order.
This is one of the many reasons I hate depression. It's robbing me of the things I love. Reading, writing, talking with friends. I just can't summon the interest. There's no spark there. I hate it. I hate being wordless, although I've managed to write paragraphs about said wordlessness. Whatever. It's all blathering. All mouth, no trousers.
I'm not looking for a vast audience on this blog. I stopped deluding myself that I could be a big blogger a long, long time ago. I do this for me, really, to scoop the crap out of my head and give it somewhere else to reside for a while. But I can't even seem to do that any more. It's the cruelest cut thus far in this epic war I seem to be waging against myself.