It’s a month from when I started writing for here (in addition to everywhere else).
I don’t think I’m any better. I don’t even know. It is fucking awful. I don’t see any improvement on the horizon. I’m just existing. Some days are crippling anxiety, some days are nothing. I feel stupid from lack of sleep. I get at least one bad migraine a week.
I cry every day. I don’t enjoy anything. I’m either numb or feeling awful, existential, debilitating loneliness.
I never empathized so much with Seven of Nine as when I recently rewatched Voyager s4e2 The Gift and saw her separated from the Borg collective.
I don’t even care about being better or this being easier, I don’t want not to grieve. If I had no responsibilities I would just wallow. Except I have to try to function in the world to take care of my toddler, and perform well enough at work to not completely tank my career so that I can provide for our son over the next decades. So. I’m struggling with just that basic shit.