Weary

I haven’t blogged much recently. To be honest, I’m discouraged. I have a readership of about ten, with spikes of anywhere up to seventy if I write a good, relevant piece. I don’t have anything good to write about at the moment, and I haven’t been looking too hard. I’m tired.

Depression is sneaking back, and the awful thinking that comes with it. ‘Why should you write? No-one cares. No-one reads your drivel. Just give up.’ I don’t want to give up. I managed to keep writing all through the deepest depression I’ve ever experienced last year. I will do my best to continue now, and hope that the depression doesn’t take me as low as last time. I have a degree to complete. I can’t be unable to do any more than get into a onesie and lie on the couch every day. It just doesn’t fit in with my plans.

I hope that this black patch is just that, a patch. Seeing the shrink next week, and maybe some things will change again. Meanwhile, every second day (except when there’s material making it worth writing more often) I will do my best to write. 

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