"The screen doors of discretion"

It's probably the MMO.

No, it's definitely the MMO. But Secret World is a symptom, not the disease. I'm avoiding cleaning, I'm avoiding my big girl pants, I'm avoiding steering any of the ships I have to steer.

I'm unfocused, uncomfortable in my shoes, in my skin.

I tried to explain "it's turtles all the way down" to my therapist, because it feels like all the layers of sad just cover more layers and no matter how much I pack up, clear out, there's always more to do.

And I know there's a 'quality of blank' to depression, it's hard to remember not being depressed, it's hard to remember eventually I won't be depressed.

There's always a thing after which I tell myself everything will be better. But there's always a thing after that, or the current thing isn't something that I can tidily end.

I'll always volunteer for the next thing, there will always be a little bit (lot bit) more coping to do with the stunt boobs, I'll always be fucked up about how I interact with people.

Reproduction comes up over and over again, and I have no regrets, I don't want a kid, I don't envy people wanting or having them, I don't want to live that story. I miss my ovaries sometimes, menopause definitely complicates things, but I don't miss living with the internal-organs-as-time-bombs paradigm. But I feel like child-rearing is a story that reconciles a person to mortality, the idea of leaving something behind, assumption of making the world a better place by bringing a person into it.So what do I do? How do I improve the world?

New train of thought.

I am awesome and I do awesome things. My own happiness is a totally legitimate goal. I don't need to be useful to anyone. (how do I let go of this whitewash of sour grapes I apply to everything I need to let go of? Maybe sometimes I don't want things because I don't want them, not because I can't have them)

I can have a clean house. I can read, I can sit still. I can try to have an impish grin and an enigmatic smile. I can try to have a sharp and wicked wit and an unflappable demeanor.

Things I do are objectively awesome. Their awesomeness is not determined by whether or not someone will come along with me or whether or not anyone envies, or even shows interest in, what I'm doing. I'm totally going to need to revisit this statement, though.

"The screen doors of discretion"

It's probably the MMO.

No, it's definitely the MMO. But Secret World is a symptom, not the disease. I'm avoiding cleaning, I'm avoiding my big girl pants, I'm avoiding steering any of the ships I have to steer.

I'm unfocused, uncomfortable in my shoes, in my skin.

I tried to explain "it's turtles all the way down" to my therapist, because it feels like all the layers of sad just cover more layers and no matter how much I pack up, clear out, there's always more to do.

And I know there's a 'quality of blank' to depression, it's hard to remember not being depressed, it's hard to remember eventually I won't be depressed.

There's always a thing after which I tell myself everything will be better. But there's always a thing after that, or the current thing isn't something that I can tidily end.

I'll always volunteer for the next thing, there will always be a little bit (lot bit) more coping to do with the stunt boobs, I'll always be fucked up about how I interact with people.

Reproduction comes up over and over again, and I have no regrets, I don't want a kid, I don't envy people wanting or having them, I don't want to live that story. I miss my ovaries sometimes, menopause definitely complicates things, but I don't miss living with the internal-organs-as-time-bombs paradigm. But I feel like child-rearing is a story that reconciles a person to mortality, the idea of leaving something behind, assumption of making the world a better place by bringing a person into it.So what do I do? How do I improve the world?

New train of thought.

I am awesome and I do awesome things. My own happiness is a totally legitimate goal. I don't need to be useful to anyone. (how do I let go of this whitewash of sour grapes I apply to everything I need to let go of? Maybe sometimes I don't want things because I don't want them, not because I can't have them)

I can have a clean house. I can read, I can sit still. I can try to have an impish grin and an enigmatic smile. I can try to have a sharp and wicked wit and an unflappable demeanor.

Things I do are objectively awesome. Their awesomeness is not determined by whether or not someone will come along with me or whether or not anyone envies, or even shows interest in, what I'm doing. I'm totally going to need to revisit this statement, though.