I haven't felt like writing lately, had to take a step back and adjust some stuff in my life first. Everything was getting so dark in my head, it was a struggle to get up and face life every day. The solution was to get back on antidepressants after a 2.5 month hiatus - and the relief was almost immediate. As badly as I wanted to quit forever, well, my brain chemistry said otherwise and it ultimately won. That's how I'm built and I have to accept it. Again, no shame or taboo talking about it - we're all struggling in one way or another.
Tomorrow I turn 53, and I've never been so uncaring about a birthday before. To me it's just another day, even if it marks a milestone of sorts - it just doesn't seem important somehow. It may be my last one, who knows? Sounds alien to voice it... unreal and foreign. I've not yet digested what's going on even if it's been a year and a half.
Is that weird?
I know this is a boring and short post but I don't want to write when I'm not in the mood, it defeats the purpose. I'll leave you with a smile:
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