It’s 2018. How did that happen?

I had one resolution for 2017: recover from depression. And while I’m still struggling with my co-existing mental disorders, I feel like it’s safe to say that I was successful in my recovery. I am no longer depressed.

What I am, however, is terrified.

When I have a bad day, when I feel gloomy and kind of miserable and grey, cold fingers start to tap at my brain.

Am I sliding back down to the dark place? Is my ability to feel joy and silliness and tenderness going to be snatched away again?

So far, the answer has been no. And my therapist is helping me with techniques to self-soothe and tamp down that fear.

It has had a hell of an effect on any writing I want to do, though. I’m afraid to be raw, afraid to dig deep and pull out those emotions and anxieties and all their icy clutching at my heart and brain.

So I try to write, and trite shit comes out. So, as usual, I don’t write.

Do I write through the trite until the dark comes out? Or do I just stop altogether until the fear goes away?

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