Vortex Surfers

by eeabee

I’ve been fighting with some serious fatigue and some gloominess–some thyroidy problems, methinks, which makes it easier to observe a little rather than getting totally sucked under and in. It’s a little more identifiable, and there’s no anhedonia–the loss of pleasure in usually pleasurable things business, which makes depression so hard to fight because with the anhedonia there doesn’t seem to be any point since everything’s flat or icky anyway. So that’s not here, just the droopy droopiness and getting overwhelmed and falling asleep and telling myself terrible things about myself (wrong size, wrong shape, wrong comments, wrong silence, wrong ideas, wrongy-wrong-wrong).

But it’s been possible to separate from those thoughts and symptoms a bit more than sometimes–not possible to stop them, or stop having those thoughts, but more possible not to add to them by taking them too much to heart. It’s not so easy not to take one’s own thoughts too much to heart, but I find it’s absolutely necessary for survival sometimes.

But I think I’ll stop writing now because it seems to be rather tiring.