Surviving. Barely. But With Writer’s Block

The last few weeks I’ve been negotiating with my employer about the best accommodation for my anxiety and depressive disorders. The process has actually stressed both disorders considerably, and on top of the daily stressors of work and crowded commutes, has left me absolutely drained at the end of each day. 

Without energy, I struggle mightily to enjoy the things I know I should enjoy, or look forward to anything that I have waiting for me on my calendar. I definitely don’t have the energy to fight off depression, and find myself surviving small bouts of it each night. Oh, and then there is the writer’s block. 

Yesterday, I struggled to think of what to write and ultimately settled on lightning and thunder. Today, I had a similar struggle, and ultimately decided to talk about the demons behind my depression, behind my writer’s block. 

Because that is one of the truly terrifying things about depression: its ability to rob you of what makes you, you. It robs you of your enjoyment of the simple pleasures, it robs you of your energy, your creativity, and your joy. It takes without mercy or care about the hardships it leaves behind for you. 

But nevertheless, I described it. I wrote it down. It might not be good, and if it isn’t please don’t judge me by this, and I might not get the enjoyment I usually do out of it, but it is still one less thing my mental illnesses has taken from me. So in short I am surviving. Barely. And with significant writer’s block. 


But I am surviving, and that is the important part.

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