I had a really good day, a very productive one which saw me get on top of a lot of tasks and clear most of my work queue. All well and good, but target is getting later and later, and that’s got me concerned. I don’t know how to recharge my batteries at this point and I don’t know why I keep ending up back here. I’m sleeping enough, I’m eating ok even if not great, and well, what can I do more than that? Exercise I guess but, I was and then I’ve slipped back again. I guess, I guess that I know exactly why but I’m still resisting sorting a therapist. I don’t know why I’m so determined to pretend my depression isn’t the one constant. I guess I’ve found it so hard to get help in the past for it that denial became the one strategy that worked. Almost worked.
I need to sort a therapist. Actually, I needed to do that in November. I should have done it sooner if it was feasable, but you know, the apocolypse. I’m sure one day I’ll look back at these posts and my journals and marvel at how long I managed to spend dancing around needing serious help and still functioned. See that’s one of the most amusing parts of 1K. It both kept me going in spite of the multitude of repressed mental health issues, but it also makes it hard for me to ignore my mental health issues forever. Nothing like rambling to make you eventually admit you’re in a dark place and need to get some damn help already. Does that mean I will? I don’t know. I still find the idea of Zoom therapy deeply unappealing, and I’m still scared of long covid if I manage to get infected out and about.
I am a little worried that I’m developing a gradual agoraphobia. I don’t know what to do. I’m isolated and I’m tired, so tired. I know, we’re all tired, I’m not so dense I don’t realise everyone is going through some version of this. I just, need to get help. I really need to. I hope I do.