Staying small doesn’t keep you safe.

I went on vacation this past week and it was lovely. This is the second time I’ve tried to vacation this year and this time it went well; in part I think because I wasn’t alone. My mother took me away to a spa for four days to celebrate my upcoming milestone birthday – I will be turning fifty next week. It was a glorious experience despite the challenges...

Stages of recovery

Step one is sobriety. It doesn’t really matter what you’re recovering from. That’s the first step. Sober thoughts and sober acts. Walk the sober walk. Getting sober is hard. It doesn’t matter what your drug of choice is. Alcohol, pills, food, whatever. It’s hard to step away from the substance you abuse, even though, by the time you decide to do so, you’ve recognized that it’s harming you. Even though by the time you’re ready to step away, you’ve already moved to hell and have taken up residence there...

I wish I didn’t care so much.

I wish I didn’t care about anything but myself. It would make life a lot easier to navigate. I bet people who truly don’t care don’t suffer from mood disorders. I care about so many things I even anthropomorphize. I get guilt if I don’t rescue a worm from the sidewalk. What if it’s scared or frightened? I worry if I don’t acknowledge both of the stuffed animals that sit on my desk; I’m afraid if I pet only one, the other’s feelings will be hurt...

Depression has me in a “fuck it” state of mind.

I’m having a bad day and it’s only seven thirty in the morning. Everyone gets bad days, I know, but it’s problematic when the bad days pile one on top of the other even when there’s nothing wrong. Especially when nothing’s wrong. You look at your life and point out all the positives and the only internal response is “so what, who cares, why bother?”

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