When the night is fast asleep, but my heart is well awake
All my thoughts, they trouble me, and it’s more than I can take….

There’s so much going on right now, and I’m not okay. I’m depressed and despondent. I wait ever day for that time on the clock when I can go to bed because at least then I can escape through sleep, and I can sleep all day except for one problem, I can’t sleep. I sit and listen to Mr. Reddit on youtube, and stare at the wall. I’ve tried writing through it, and that helps, but I’ve come to learn that I write well when I’m depressed, not that writing alleviates the depression. If anything, it sometimes sinks me further deeper.

I can’t walk anymore. I thought I was past being sad about that loss, but the other day someone suggested I walk on a treadmill to get me strength back and I wanted to scream at them, “Don’t you think I’d love to do that if I could?” “What are you, clueless? Have you not been reading? Do you not see how hard it is for me?”

I have trouble standing up from my wheelchair. Sometimes I can do it, other times I almost fall trying to and don’t succeed. It has resulted in several bouts of tears because of what I can’t do anymore.

Then something happened that has made me doubt my writing too….

When I start to doubt my writing, I get really depressed. I used to think I was good but I got good enough to realize how much more I need to learn and I’m 50 years old. I don’t see that I’m going to sell my best selling novel any time soon.

And yet, I’ve got two books in the works that I’m in love with, that mean the world to me, and I’m afraid to share them for fear no one will love them as much as I do. I need to finish writing them anyway, but still. It’s hard to share your love like that and wonder if it will be accepted.

Facebook usually helps–your comments help, your shares and likes and interactions all help. But that even adds to the depression when I post a blog post and get three likes on it but I post a picture of stuffed lungs and get 176 likes on it.

When my strength is weak, I can feel you carry me
In the darkness left for blind, I can feel your hand in mine
And your whisper heals my soul
Don’t let go, don’t let go…

I don’t mean to seem ungrateful. I have gratitude for all I have. I have trouble finding it sometimes. But it’s there, lurking in the  background, trying to keep me from sinking. Did you know even my own adult children don’t read my blog? I have to ask myself why I write it–is it for me or for you? If it’s for you, I need to hang my pen up now. I need to write for me, and then hope others will find it somehow and enjoy it at some point, but the focus should always be on writing for myself.

I know I’m not too far gone because I still get teary when I’m typing this. If I were really far gone, I’d be numb. I’m not numb. Though numb is sometimes desirable, it hurts deeper and longer than tears.

So that’s it for today–just me saying I’m not currently okay. I’m just not. But I will be because I always ALWAYS am.

I will say this…. Lynn asked me the other day, because she knows me and she’s my medical power of attorney, whether I was wanting to give up yet, whether I was ready to say I’ve had enough the next time I go into the hospital or get sick again, like I always do, and my instant reaction was NO. I’m not giving up. Not yet.

I’m just so tired of having to try so hard… so very tired.

Love and stuff,
Michy