I've been acting... making out things are fine, when they're not - and it's all caught up with me.
This is a bad thing to do.
Yesterday, my mind caught up with me and I mentally fell down and couldn't get up.
It's only been 6 months since my childhood friend took her own life; and I hid from my grief. I hid in my garden and renovated the crap out of it... and when I ran out of money and the weather got too hot, when I had to stop and look around,when I couldn't hide in the garden anymore, I ... fell down.
I had to take in reality.
I haven't written anything to do my fictional worlds which is more than 2,000 words since May of this year. I can barely get out a poem - not even a sonnet or a ballad - and yet reading has become an alien planet to me. I walk into my home library and I just want to throw out all of my books and have an empty room.
But I know it's not me who is really thinking that. It's grief. It's depression. It's that horrible nagging voice in the back of my mind telling me that I could have saved her - it's name is Guilt.
I couldn't have saved Hannah.
If I flew to the UK and tried to help her, what else would I have done? Been shattered over there, as much as I am here, that's what.
National Novel Writing Month is coming up in a week or two and I'm hoping to push through my inability to work and make myself write 50,000 words. I have to get myself through this drought of words and get back into my fictional worlds again... I miss the characters, the way it all works, my fun trips there and back.
Depression has many faces - and reality can make it crush your world. Mine has been crushed after so many months hiding from it; and now, I need time to work on how to live without my dear friend.
This is a bad thing to do.
Yesterday, my mind caught up with me and I mentally fell down and couldn't get up.
It's only been 6 months since my childhood friend took her own life; and I hid from my grief. I hid in my garden and renovated the crap out of it... and when I ran out of money and the weather got too hot, when I had to stop and look around,when I couldn't hide in the garden anymore, I ... fell down.
I had to take in reality.
I haven't written anything to do my fictional worlds which is more than 2,000 words since May of this year. I can barely get out a poem - not even a sonnet or a ballad - and yet reading has become an alien planet to me. I walk into my home library and I just want to throw out all of my books and have an empty room.
But I know it's not me who is really thinking that. It's grief. It's depression. It's that horrible nagging voice in the back of my mind telling me that I could have saved her - it's name is Guilt.
I couldn't have saved Hannah.
If I flew to the UK and tried to help her, what else would I have done? Been shattered over there, as much as I am here, that's what.
National Novel Writing Month is coming up in a week or two and I'm hoping to push through my inability to work and make myself write 50,000 words. I have to get myself through this drought of words and get back into my fictional worlds again... I miss the characters, the way it all works, my fun trips there and back.
Depression has many faces - and reality can make it crush your world. Mine has been crushed after so many months hiding from it; and now, I need time to work on how to live without my dear friend.
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