I have nothing to say...

I had a discussion with my wife this morning in regards to a book we both read, the point was about having something to focus on. I'm glad I'm an artist, I'm never bored. Of course that's not true, but I liken it to when it looks like I'm bored, more than likely, I, personally, this is just me, I am most likely depressed.

There's a lot of that going on right now. I have so much on my mind that I can't focus on anything, so I sit and stare blankly. Is it catatonia? Is it boredom? Is it stress and worry and thereby anxiety? Yeah, all of it, yes; the answer is yes.

My next therapy appointment is on Tuesday, a day and a half from this writing. What will I be able to tell my therapist about writing every day? That I tried, that it didn't help/that it did help, that it simply just was. And I guess that's the point of all of this. I've stressed that already; normalizing the behavior, sticking to a routine, makes it easier to talk about my problems, or face my computer screen to write, or to make myself aware of my posture and breathing. These are all beneficial, sure. But seriously? It's Sunday, it's raining, I'm still fretting over not having a job, school seems irresponsible but maybe inevitable, and I'm still making myself physically ill with all this worry. I can feel it. I'm not adjusting, I'm not normalizing, I'm spiraling like a plane with a wing shot off.

Where is my eject-lever? Do I have a parachute? Where will I land regardless?

That's it.

I have no answers, I wouldn't be where I'm at if I did, but here I am, doing the damn thing to get it out of the way.

"Where the fear has gone...
Only I will remain."

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