It's been a rough few months.
I wake up not sure how I'll get through the day.
My drive is gone.
My creativity is a distant memory.
My enthusiasm shows up in short bursts when usually it's my status quo.
I'm not used to this bleakness, this sadness, being on the edge of tears, ready to plunge into anxiety at any moment.
I'm usually juggling more things at one time than I can even list. Now my laundry's been sitting in the corner for days and I can't quite seem to get it done. Or clean my desk. Send out invoices. Thank you notes. Write a book.
I had breakfast with one of my closest friends I've managed to shut out for months and realized, as I finally started talking about all that's been going on, that I need help. It doesn't make me stronger to soldier through and suffer this much. If there's something I can take to get me past this, take the edge off, help me cope until I can handle it all from a better place, that's what I need to do.
Medication scares the shit out of me. But at this point the thought of feeling like myself again instead of this, is a tiny light at the end of this grey tunnel.