I'm not depressed. At least not yet.
But I have this pulling-in sensation that seems like it is a prelude to depression. I have gone through this before, when it seemed like the thing to do was just to stop talking to anyone, stop looking at social media, prepare to disappear. The thought of interacting with anyone to pursue publishing books is just too much.
I am struggling to find things to say to even the few people I (sort of) want to interact with. The kids call and I have nothing to say. Lucy calls and I have nothing to say. I spend part of my afternoon thinking of things to talk to Jose about when he gets home from work so that he doesn't worry about me.
I'm not sad. I'm a little panicky. But I'm having a hard time looking forward to anything. I just want to sit here and knit down my stash until I die, which, admittedly, will take a while.
But I am being PROACTIVE. *eyeroll* I am going to theater auditions for roles I will never get and acting classes where I can pay to make people watch me perform, and more importantly, I go to places where people smile and hug me when they see me. Even if it's acting, I'll take it.
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