I’m home.
Took most of the last few days to rest. I’ve been feeling under the weather. My brain is foggy and distracted. I’m so tired.
Bleak social anxiety rumination spirals are keeping me up at night. It’s mentally excruciating. Currently avoiding almost everyone. Feeling out of touch and sad.
I have tools to cope with this and I know it will pass, it’s just uncomfortable and gross right now.
I think there’s a gap in my mental health support system and it’s getting past time to work on repairing it again.
Otherwise – feeding my sourdough starter, baking bread, making soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. I’m taking care of my mother’s garden. There is too much zucchini and I’ve started trying to give some away. Basil, swiss chard, cucumbers, tomatoes, potatoes, strawberries, pears, melons.
I’m trying to distract myself. Taking the dog for walks, cuddling with my cat, listening to music, working on some writing.
I sat down to write a story several weeks ago and now I have a little over 20,000 words. Still isn’t finished yet. I have no idea where it’s coming from or where it’s going, but I think I almost know what it’s trying to say.
I guess 20,000 words is a lot for someone who prefers to write in sporadic bursts of energy and then hit “publish” before I slow down enough to check for typos, or to think twice about whether I want the internet to read about what’s going on inside my head. Maybe it’s growth, or maybe I could have done this a long time ago and was too scared to try. It’s a work in progress but I’m still quietly proud of it, and it’s nice to have something to feel proud of. A friend told me not to give up and that I should keep writing.
We’ll see how it goes.