quiet storm

So, I’ve been depressed lately. This is nothing unusual thanks to my history of depression, but this has been a whole new exciting layer of depression – the kind that makes it hard to get out of bed and go on with the day to day because there’s really no point in anything at all. I’ve been too depressed to write about being depressed. I’ve been too depressed to find my depression hilarious. I’ve been too depressed to play dodgeball. Basically, I’ve been depressed, is what I’m trying to say here.

I’m not really sure how to get out of this pit this time ’round. I’m questioning everything – my job, my life, my existence, my raison d’etre – and not finding any easy answers, just a lot of doubt. It feels like I’m sleepwalking through life, mutely looking at everything with giant anime eyes (that don’t quiver, so at least I know I’m not scared). It’s disconcerting.

I haven’t spent the entire last two weeks in a bed fort, although the temptation was mighty. I’ve managed to get out of the house a few times – once to see Shan’s dance recital downtown, and Ed and I went to Seattle last weekend (more on that shortly) – but beyond that, there’s nothing. I’m nothing. This sucks.

The worst part of all of this is that everything is actually fine. It’s even more than fine – things are pretty good. My health is improving. No complaints at home. Our cats are adorable. Hot singles in my area want to meet me. Everything is great, except for the fact that I can’t get out of bed in the morning and I have no joy. No big deal.

Except it totally is, and I hate feeling like this. I miss .. everything. I miss loving my life. I miss loving my work. I miss good times and adventures and laughter. I don’t really know what to do, so I just sit here, expressionless, until it’s time to get up and go sit somewhere else. Eventually, it’ll be time to be expressionless at home, then in bed, then sleep. Rinse and repeat, until the end of time. A big empty nothing of a life, wasting words on lower cases and capitals.

But hey, it’s not all bad. Seattle was super fun – saw an Astronautalis show, met another Kim, fangirled loudly at the stage with her, had Good Times with Ed, visited the Sparkle Castle. I could use more of that – loud, sweaty human interaction. If nothing else, it’s a reason to get dressed and go outside.

I am grim. I shall change my name to Grimli.

if you need me, i’ll be a crow.


falling slowly

It’s probably for the best that this post has nothing to do with falling in love with scruffy Irish buskers, even if would be terribly exciting (likely in theory only). Of course, even if that WERE my reality, chances are a) I wouldn’t notice, or b) I wouldn’t feel a thing .. because that’s what this post is really about: my mental health is in a really, really bad state right now.

Things should be awesome here on Planet Kimli – adorable kitten, new job, a trunk full of Diet Coke, fun things to look forward to, excellent scooting weather, my skin is better than it has been in a year – but they’re significantly less than good, for no real reason. I’m tired all the time. Nothing makes me happy. Nothing makes me sad. Nothing makes me anything, actually. I feel utterly detached, and everything is an endless sea of grey. Logically I know I should want to fix this, but the only solution I can come up with is largely based around my crawling into bed and never ever coming out. I’m told this isn’t so much of a fix as it is a terrible idea that will leave me both poor and smelly, but damn if it isn’t the only thing that interests me even a little these days. I am in a Bad Place. I don’t know how to get out.


Apparently, I can feel two things: shame and disgust. The shame comes from my posting this at all, and the disgust comes from that shame. Isn’t it stupid that I can wax poetry for weeks about my genitals, but when I really need to say something serious about my mental health, my very strong gut feeling is to sit down and shut up and post something meaningless instead so I won’t embarrass myself or others? I know better than that. As a whole, things won’t get better until there’s as little stigma about depression as there is about having a cold. And yet .. it’s taken me ages to post this. I haven’t been feeling like this for a few days or weeks, but months, and I’ve said nothing. I am ashamed of my silence. This is so much more important than what’s going on with my vagina (not much of anything, thanks for asking), but I can’t speak.

Now I am super annoyed at myself, too. I do not like today so much.