I’m not writing much these days beyond keyboard warrior entries on Twitter. A level of rage helps there and depression keeps my angry close to the surface.

It’s good that depression combines anger with a diminished ability to control oneself. I enjoy the way I blow up my life when I’m depressed.

But I miss writing. I miss having a routine.

I miss feeling like I’ve done enough to earn my air.

Thank God for the repost.

As it turns out, I was also depressed last year. Not without cause, but something to attend to, perhaps. November is a problematic month for me because of that whole “the body keeps score” thing, but perhaps there’s something about May.

I’m not swinging back into resiliency as quickly as I’d like. My surface is paper thin.

Sometimes I blame menopause.

Other times I blame my daughter – we’ve chatted and I’ve been ghosted twice in the last thirty days. I’ve decided to block her for a bit. Her behaviour is unkind, but I’m also a glutton for punishment. I’m not great with boundaries when it comes to people I love. I do feel miserably guilty about it.

My brain likes to find reasons for my mood and affect that aren’t depression. Other causes might be easier to fix. Pulling out of the depression pit is work, and it takes time. With menopause, I could potentially take a pill.

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A year ago I was taking a break from Facebook. I reactivated it – it’s hard to function in the world without it – but I broke the habit and I spend far less time on social media than I once did.

Luckily there are nearly infinite options when it comes to distracting myself.

I need to stop doing it via shopping, however. Yes, I hit the thrift stores, so it’s semi-virtuous, but it’s also treating depression with consumption – not sustainable – and making me feel overrun with stuff. I have a happy place when it comes to possession quantity and I’m at the outside edge of my comfort level these days.

But shopping is a hard thing to give up. Shopping gives my brain a neurochemical hit, and I’m running low these days. Besides, I just found two darling Tango Mango dresses. Four dollars each and brand new. Not buying them would’ve been a crime.

But it’s weird that we’ve turned consumption into recreation and bonding.

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Spring cleaning and mental health.

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