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.