For this pain to seem purposeful

Yesterday I mentioned I was in a bit of a funk. The funk holds. It's not easy to write about...or think about...or put out there for people to see. I'm not even entirely sure my family has noticed that I'm not quite myself. But I'm putting it out there. And I'm inspired to put it out there because I read The Bloggess. She writes about her depression. She puts a light on the darkest places of it. And she's got herself an army. An army of people who deal with anxiety and depression and mania and every other thing you can think of. And as a stalker member of her freak parade reader of her blog, I've learned a lot about psychiatric disorders that I never knew before. I've learned enough to almost, maybe, sort of recognize some of the symptoms in myself. It's no secret, I developed some relatively severe anxiety after I had Smooshie. I've been dealing with that okay I think. But I find myself feeling bluer, taking a little less joy in the things I used to adore doing. Just..not..quite..right.. But no worries, my dears, I'm monitoring the situation and reaching out for help in the appropriate places. And I've learned that depression is a lying asshole. And sometimes keeping that in mind helps.

And when it doesn't?

Well, sometimes I run away to the lake (which I'm doing tonight), sometimes I just cry and cry and let it be what it is. Sometimes I fake it till I make it. And sometimes, I click over to The Bloggess and remind myself I'm not alone and about the importance of dancing in the rain.