For the past five weeks or so, I’ve been in a complete mental fog. Teetering between the lines of not giving a fuck and giving too many.
I haven’t been writing lately because my creative juices have been blocked by some invisible force. Maybe it’s the negative feelings that I’ve been having of turning 30 in two months. Maybe it’s the darkness I’ve been battling. Maybe it’s my kids getting on my nerves. Maybe it’s my husband not understanding a damn thing I’m going through. Maybe it’s because I’m back in school full time and my time management skills have been fully tested. Maybe it’s because my money is funny but ain’t shit laughable about it. Hell, I don’t know what it is. I do know that I haven’t written in a while. Matter of fact, when the thought comes to me, to get up and do what I love, I automatically shut it down.
See, the place I’m in mentally isn’t healthy right now and I know that. But I’m so used to not being ok but faking it, plastering on the smiles, talking in the sing-songy voice to give the people the impression, “Oh, she’s doing just fine.” Really it’s second nature.
If you’ve read my previous posts, my book (A Word At A Time: Healing Through Words, which is available on Amazon and yes this is a shameless plug), been to my website (awordatatime.net) or heard me do spoken word, then you know I battle depression like millions of other people. It’s a constant in my life, unfortunately. You’ll also know that sometimes I win the fight and other times I don’t. At this particular moment, as I write this, I guess I’m winning. Because I’m writing. Yay me.
But to my readers, I’m back. Just wait for it.