I don’t deal well with depression anymore. Now that I feel like I’m pretty “normal” most of the time — as opposed to ten or twelve years ago, when feeling pointless and uninspired was the norm for me — now that I’m usually OK, I don’t revel in this nastiness. I’d rather it be over.
But it’s just not that easy.
I feel like a very small person, mentally, when I can’t take constructive criticism; when I can’t gracefully accept someone else’s successes; when I
can’t don’t keep bargains I’ve made with myself; when I’m reminded that I’m still kind of a fuck-up sometimes, despite being a 31-year-old “grown-up,” and that I already knew that I was a fuck-up, and that I just never fixed the problem. I hate getting down on myself for shit, instead of just fixing the shit and moving on.
Maybe I do still revel in this BS. If I didn’t, I’d just fucking pick myself up, shake myself off, and move on. Right?
I’m too tired to think about this shit right now. I need to chill out and go to bed. After I figure out what’s for lunch tomorrow.