Last night, I did something that I haven't done in a good while.
I sat down, and I read a few blog posts.
Blogging, and reading blogs, are two things that I truly, absolutely love. You know how sometimes you have to force yourself into thinking you like something, just because it seems like a cool hobby and you feel like you have to keep up with it after a while? I have had my fair share of hobbies that I feel that way about, but blogging isn't one of them. I loved it at the beginning, and I have loved it all the way through. So, how I have managed to neglect it so much over the past few months is beyond me.
I have been going through something very difficult this year, and maybe a total of three people know about it. I think I began to distance myself from writing when the difficult time in reference began. It's something I wanted to, and still want to be able to talk about so badly...but I can't. It's going to have to remain a secret...probably forever. As a writer, and an introvert, blogging has been my way of getting things off my chest...it has been my own form of self-therapy. So, when I couldn't talk about the one thing I so desperately wanted to get out in the open, I began to resent my blog. What good was this online space if I couldn't talk about the only thing that is on my mind? My creativity went down with my depression, and it took my blog and my blogging relationships with it.
Therefore, while I have blamed my lack of writing on moving to a new apartment, or being consumed with my new job, the truth is that I have just been too sad to do so. I haven't been able to bring myself to type more than a sentence or two of a post without closing my laptop and questioning what the point is. I haven't had the energy to devote to writing and publishing posts, or reading and commenting on the posts of others. I threw away the main thing that made me "me," and that didn't help anything. I have been neglecting my talents, and my dreams, and everything positive that comes along with this crazy hobby.
So, as I'm sitting here in my new home, typing away madly in my own little world, I'm still sad. However, for the first time in a long time, I am realizing that I can't continue to sabotage myself and the things I enjoy just because I'm angry at myself for being depressed. And, while I know that I may not be in this same positive mindset when I wake up tomorrow morning, I am confident that I will still know in the back of my mind that this post, and everything I have just typed into it, is truth. It will serve as a reminder that there is still a huge portion of me that believes in talents, and simple pleasures, and dreams...even though I don't feel that way a good portion of the time.
I still have a lot of things I want to accomplish. I still have a lot of words I want to write. I still have a lot of dreams I want to live. And regardless of depression, or whatever other setbacks I encounter over the years...I'm going to be fulfilled and accomplished at the end of my life. I am certain of it.