Hello apathy, my old friend

Lying here in bed, looking at the light coming in between the curtains. Today I admitted to my therapist, and to myself, that although I’m not actively having suicidal thoughts, I’m not particarly psyched about living either. It was hard to admit that, but admitting it is the first step to owning it, which is the first step to doing something about it. As the saying goes (Elizabeth Gilbert, I think): no one ever made a change without first being very tired of their own bullshit.
It’s hard being in this place again. After my last bout of chronic depression which landed me in hospital in 2007, I didn’t think I’d feel this apathy ever again. Depression, yes, I knew that would return and return again. But this apathy… It’s a scary, familiar non-space. Unemployment really saps everything, as it poisons everything, in a way that other stressful events don’t.
I’m choosing fear and vulnerability, rather than apathy, shame and disconnection; I’m not asking for help or sympathy; I’m just owning this space and owning the responsibility I have to myself to claw my way out of it, as I always have.

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