Yesterday was a bad day.
Depression is being Schrodinger's cat.
Today will be better.
I'm going to try to write today. I've taken a brief hiatus from writing. It's been nearly a month, and this is why. I've been battling with depression again. Like a lot. As in, twelve hours of sleep isn't cutting it. Twelve hours of sleep and then napping for three hours isn't cutting it.
That's not to say I haven't been trying. It just feels like there's something wrapped around my brain, slowing me down, preventing me from thinking coherently. It makes me forgetful. Mid-idea, I forget what I'm doing, what I'm thinking. It's like opening the refrigerator and forgetting what you went inside for, except worse, because you forgot to open the fridge in the first place. Then you stand in front of the fridge staring at it, trying to remember what it is the refrigerator does. Why is it you're standing in front of the fridge? Why is it you're standing? Where are you? What are you?
Not who. Never who.
That's not to say I haven't been trying. Yesterday was a bad day. It took me by surprise because my days *have* been getting better. I just couldn't function. I tried. I cleaned the bathroom. I did other stuff. I know I did other stuff. For some reason, cleaning that darn bathroom was so important. It's the first thing I remember from yesterday. Really, the only thing, now that I'm trying so hard to remember. But I did other things. I remember *trying* really hard. Trying to do something.
Oh, I took in wood, too. Five cart-loads.
I just looked over and my daughter was biting her lip. I furrowed my brows at her and she furrowed hers back. "Are you copying me?" I asked. She smiled.