You know those montages in silly Hollywood movies where one character lets themselves go completely and sits around watching daytime tv and eating cereal and wearing pyjamas/tracksuits all day with messy hair and an ever-expanding waistline? That’s me. For the past four and a half months, since my contract wasn’t renewed at the place were I worked and loved it, I’ve been a Hollywood stereotype. And yes, I’m listening to Rachmaninov’s second piano concerto at the moment too. And looking off into space while I try to figure out why I haven’t done a single thing on my to-do list for the day.

 

That’s right, I’m not so far gone that I didn’t have a list, but it’s a list that gets longer and longer, as my finger gets longer and longer. I’ve put off so much that normality now lives over a mountain of unfinished, undealt-with, unappetising STUFF.  Dentists, doctors, pensions, driving licences. Things that would only take a moment to actually organise. And the overhanging imperative that never really goes away either – GET A JOB.

 

I got depressed, you see. It had been looming all summer, but September hit, and my hopeful assertions that I’d have a chance to do all the things I’d been meaning to, and maybe travel, but be back at work before Christmas… they all fell by the wayside as listlessly checking the internet for someone responding to my dwindling posts/messages and staying awake well into the night and asleep well into the day took over.

 

I decided in December that I’d had enough. I went to the doctor and got myself some anti-depressants. Feeling like I was doing the right thing buoyed me up and carried me over the festive season, but  now that January is getting ready to move into February, I realise that I’ve slipped again. The insomnia that is part legacy of my depression, part side-effect of the anti-depressants is getting worse, and all of my good intentions vanish again each day as I try to grab some kind of sleep, that ends up beginning when most people get up, and lasting until lunchtime.

 

It’s getting dark now. I feel like writing these words has accomplished something, but I’m really just kidding myself, and putting off the climb to normality yet again. But how do you start that climb when you can’t rest up and prepare? Is it just setting myself up for failure yet again?

 

I’m going to tick off one thing on my list today that is a one-off must-do task. Then try one tomorrow as well. And I’m going to try to get some sleep. We’ll see what happens after that.

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