While spending time before going to the hospital, I was told to keep myself busy, work on little projects. And the truth is, there are so many little projects I could be doing. I’ve got so much stuff around the apartment I could do. The only problem? I don’t wanna do it. And you can’t make me!
No, truthfully, I really want to do them. I really do. I want to make pillows, I want to clean the apartment, I want to weave or cross-stitch. The only problem? I can’t find it in me to enjoy these things like I used to. Depression has stolen my joy.
It’s probably the most frustrating part of being depressed, nothing makes you happier. All the little things you once loved, they no longer serve a purpose. Therefore, it feeds into that thinking of nothing having meaning.
I know I’m still alive in there somewhere, I can feel joy from my writing. So, you may hear a lot from me today. It’s the only thing that keeps me going.