So, the struggle has been real.
So real that I feel my voice has been muted and thus I have not written.
Christmas almost killed me. By Boxing Day I felt like I wanted to die. Quite literally, the will to be alive had been sucked from me.
Firstly work had basically left me an emotional open wound. Many reasons which I will not explore here but I emotionally felt like a fresh graze on a hangover with sunburn.
Then, Christmas – all the people. Who I love. But they all want you ‘on’, you know? So by Boxing Day I slept til 12pm and when I got up I wanted to be unconscious again as soon as humanly possible.
So I fled home to be with my cat.
And so now here I am, ready to submerse myself in festival culture for 3 days, I wonder where my head will be at the end!?
Is this emotionally intelligent? To seek enjoyment that drains me so thoroughly? Or is that the definition of stupidity… I can’t tell.