It's getting more difficult. I knew it would. There just isn't enough in my life that a really enjoy. Even the pretense of happiness I wear is beginning to be too troublesome. I am play-acting my own life. Fulfilling the essentials of life and whatever I can bear to do beyond that. And the worst part is, there isn't a cure. I've been searching for months now, trying to find an interest, a hobbny, something I could be passionate about.
All I have are my mediocre drawings and the guitar (which I suck at, by the way). Oh, and my marriage, My borderline-obsessive love for my husband. Is that all there really is to me?
I did feel slightly better the other day...I went shopping. Seriously, it always helps, no matter what. It saved me from the brink of another breakdown and let me bury my broken heart for a little while longer. I got a couple new tops from Anthropologie, and I fell in love with a tunic from Free People, but i can't afford that yet. But it WILL be mine eventually. If only I cared as much for other aspects in my life as I did for my clothes...it's the only thing that really excites me at this point.
I know I'm depressed. I know the symptoms. Not wanting to get out of bed, not wanting to eat, or take a shower, or anything at all. not even wanting to exist. But I am afraid of anti-depressants. I don't want to be dependent on them, or become suicidal. Not wanting to exist and wanting to kill yourself are two VERY different things. i don't want to cross that line.
Anyways, I'm making the best effort i can at the moment. i only hope it will be enough to get me out of this...funk I've been in since Christmas.
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