In all honesty, mostly feeling sorry for myself.  I’ve been hit on and off with smaller bouts of depression over the past two weeks.  Luckily I’ve been able to continue with work for the most part, but the depression is starting to get a tad oppressive.  

I’ve had some family stressors as well, and those have been livening things up a bit.  Mainly it’s all about an almost teenage boy (my nephew).  He’s very important to me and some of the things that happened lately had to happen, and they weren’t pretty.  It’s also seemed of late, that so many of my friends’ lives are drastically changing.  Changing in ways that make me sad, even though the changes are conscious decisions and not injured limbs or otherwise uncontrolled occurrences.  

I mentioned recently that I’ve been reading a fair amount.  Let me rephrase that, I’ve been reading a ridiculous amount.  David Eddings and Brandon Sanderson have been my companions of late, as they’ve aided my escape from reality.  My neck and shoulders are sore from the constant poses I use when reading books in either our chairs or in the bed.  My feet are constantly annoyed at that clammy feeling you get when they sweat inside your bedsheets.

All of this depression and self loathing has made me quite sick of myself.  The fact that I recognize my bad habits doesn’t help any either.  I stress eat, and it’s been happening.  I’m keeping it in check, but it’s horribly demoralizing to know that one of the bad habits you have which seems to combat stress so well is one that makes you fat.  So I’ve been consuming peppermint tea and taking baths more than normal to try to let the stress melt away.  It’s ‘kind of‘ working.  

I don’t really know what a weekend feels like anymore because I almost never get two days in a row when I don’t feel like I need to be working.  Even on the days I take as my ‘weekend’  I feel like I’m doing something wrong and so I still stress about it all day long.  Humorous how my recent blog entries about recovery and learning how to understand ones self have borne an entry about self loathing and depression.  I long for an escape from these feelings and yet I have full control over my life.  I have full control over the actions that make me feel this way, but I continue to be a flake.  I continue to self-degrade while day-dreaming.  I continue to eat more than necessary, anything to make these feelings go away.  But the stories, they seem to be my only solace.  And so I return back to my adventure novels, and I escape from reality for just a little bit more.