I would like to say that I've not been blogging because I've been too busy with taxes and all that, but I would be lying. The truth is, I've had time. I've had time to finish taxes, to unpack boxes, to work and go running and write blog posts. But I don't.
I procrastinated some of my tax clients. I don't know why. Those who had all their information to me on time were filed. Those who didn't were extended. My own taxes were extended. That's stupid. I don't know why I did that. Now I'll owe taxes plus interest.
I'm still living with packed boxes. I try to unpack, but when I look at the cupboards in the kitchen to figure out where everything belongs, I become overwhelmed. Sometimes I put something on a shelf. Sometimes I just walk away. When Darrin tries to help me, I get upset.
I want to go running. Sometimes I do. Mostly I don't. The neighborhood is lovely. I like running here. But going running requires me to get dressed and leave my house. That's hard for me.
I pull up my online work. I look at it. I type a few things. Then I sit and stare into space. There's nothing on my mind. My supervisor contacted me to ask if I was ill. I told her I was.
I think about writing a blog post. Then I realize I have nothing to say.
This is depression. I'm depressed. There has been too much stress in my life for too long with no breaks. Which causes depression. Most days I get up early, go to my new office, sit with my computer and do nothing. For hours. I feel completely immobile. I'm sort of amazed I was able to finish the tax clients I did.
I don't sound depressed when I talk with people. I don't really know what depressed sounds like.
I don't think I look depressed. I smile a lot.
Some nights I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, aware I'm not sleeping, but too listless to think about why or what to do about it. So I just lie there.
I've thought about talking about this with Therapist or with people close to me. But I don't. Because I think I'm afraid. I'm afraid of not being the person who's happy. I'm afraid of disappointing someone who needs me. I'm afraid people will leave me because I'm not fun or interesting. I'm afraid of asking for help and being told there's no help for me.
Therapist would help me. I know that. I just don't know what to say if I talk with him. And he'll tell me being depressed, given the things that have transpired in my recent life, is not only understandable, but probably unavoidable. But I don't want it to be understandable. I want it to be gone. Also, I haven't done the assignment he gave me last time. And, quite honestly, I'm really tired of being in therapy. Really, really tired.
But I went for a run today in the rain and the wind. It was cold. Some of my neighbors have yards full of tulips and lilacs. And I'm starting a new book. And I put a bookcase in my living room tonight. It's empty, but I brought it in from the garage.
So maybe I'm not horribly depressed. Just sort of.