This will have to suffice as my weekly update. I could cobble something together, talk about my love of Hakha Chin and how fast the current project is going. I could talk about the prayer rally on Wednesday and how I sang and somehow got asked to pray, and we all know how much I love public prayer. I could do a lot of things.
Or rather, I should. Used to be able to. It's a toss up from day to day on what I can actually do.
I'm struggling.
I've been struggling. For six months now, maybe longer, I've been telling myself that it's not that bad. At least I can still take care of stuff around the house. At least I'm still sleeping fairly well. At least I'm still eating. At least I'm functioning.
And I made excuses. Dishes can wait another day or so. I have plenty of clean clothes. My pillows are old, so it makes sense I wouldn't sleep well. I have a lot on my mind, so of course I'm staying up later. I'm trying to lose weight. I'm just not hungry.
But people keep asking me how I'm doing. Most of them don't actually care, it's just a thing you say. And the proper reply, the polite reply, is to say 'fine' and move on. Except it feels like lying now. I started saying I was 'okay, for given values of okay,' except with the last part under my breath because it made people uncomfortable.
I can't give you a reason. I can give you fifteen reasons. I'm not totally alone in this. I am talking to people. But it's weighing on me. I feel like I'm doing a terrible job of hiding it. I feel like I'm doing too good a job of hiding it. And I don't know why I'm trying to hide it anymore.
I'm sorry this isn't the normal fare you come here for. Just, I might mention it again. And I might never talk about it. I don't know what I want your response to be. I just know that silence never helped anyone. Unless you're living in the universe of "A Quiet Place."
I'm functioning still. I'm working on the other stuff. I read. I watch movies. I hang out with friends. I work. I'm still me. I'm just more me than people are used to dealing with.
Or rather, I should. Used to be able to. It's a toss up from day to day on what I can actually do.
I'm struggling.
I've been struggling. For six months now, maybe longer, I've been telling myself that it's not that bad. At least I can still take care of stuff around the house. At least I'm still sleeping fairly well. At least I'm still eating. At least I'm functioning.
And I made excuses. Dishes can wait another day or so. I have plenty of clean clothes. My pillows are old, so it makes sense I wouldn't sleep well. I have a lot on my mind, so of course I'm staying up later. I'm trying to lose weight. I'm just not hungry.
But people keep asking me how I'm doing. Most of them don't actually care, it's just a thing you say. And the proper reply, the polite reply, is to say 'fine' and move on. Except it feels like lying now. I started saying I was 'okay, for given values of okay,' except with the last part under my breath because it made people uncomfortable.
I can't give you a reason. I can give you fifteen reasons. I'm not totally alone in this. I am talking to people. But it's weighing on me. I feel like I'm doing a terrible job of hiding it. I feel like I'm doing too good a job of hiding it. And I don't know why I'm trying to hide it anymore.
I'm sorry this isn't the normal fare you come here for. Just, I might mention it again. And I might never talk about it. I don't know what I want your response to be. I just know that silence never helped anyone. Unless you're living in the universe of "A Quiet Place."
I'm functioning still. I'm working on the other stuff. I read. I watch movies. I hang out with friends. I work. I'm still me. I'm just more me than people are used to dealing with.
Where there is desire, there is gonna be a flame
Where there is a flame, someone's bound to get burned
But just because it burns, doesn't mean you're gonna die
You gotta get up and try, and try, and try
Gotta get up and try, and try, and try
You gotta get up and try, and try, and try
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