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Putting this less glamorous post here, where no one will read it – rather than Instagram. It is Bell Let’s Talk day (ugh). My feeds are flooded with encouraging posts and celebrities and it all just makes me angry, and I don’t know why.

I am feeling helpless lately. My depression is at a major low, as we drift into February.  January is not my friend, but what follows really isn’t either. I’m finding it very difficult to push through this period of unknown. I can’t keep taking sick days, leaving early, arriving late. I feel absent in all of areas of my life, and my lack of participation is only making things worse. I know it’s never been as long as it feels, but this rut seems to be deeper than usual. When I was younger, recovery felt attainable. I always had hope that once I had a partner, I would be happy. Once I had a good job, I’d be happy. Routine used to make me happy – now I just wonder where I’m going, and why. If meeting my goals and passing milestones hasn’t brought me sustainable joy, what will? All I see is opportunity to be pushed further down, and that terrifies me.

No foundation

I wanted you,
trusted you then despised you;

I escaped, briefly

returning to you, new - who knew

a home by definition, then 

confirming what I once felt 

- no longer a memory of anxiety, these walls

scratched and smashed 

They know everything,

We know everything. 

A house with no foundation, stands 

and sinks - but the ground is sturdy;

basements are obsolete. 

How are there no mice? we'd ask

Skunks nesting underneath 

You can wipe your feet on me, twist my motives around all you like, you can dump milestones on my head and drown me in the river, but you can't get me out of the story. I'm the plot, babe, and don't ever forget it.

-Margaret Atwood, Good Bones