Why am I not writing?

Because I don’t want to.

Writing requires checking in, and I am checked out.

I feel lost, and quite possibly depressed.

I am running from my father.

Exploring new relationships.

I’m doubting my abilities as a mother.

Drowning in music.

Avoiding self reflection.

I am navigating a possible friendship with my ex,

You know, the one I can’t go more than three days without thinking about.

Because that’s healthy.

I’m in a mental war about whether or not I should take my meds,

Even though as I am not taking them my mental health plummets.

I won’t look at my bank account, because when I do reality hits.

My house is a mess and I’m sleeping in sweatshirts – the tell tale sign that I am not okay.

I’m afraid I’ll never be better. So why try.