Big Sad Feelings

I always forget that you have to sit down and write a whole bunch of bullshit before you even know what you’re going to write about. Or before you have anything you want to post on your--gag me-- blog. I hate having a blog. I love having a blog. It makes me a capital W Writer, even in those months and months when I wrote nothing. Not even bullshit. 
It’s hot in this room. The fan’s not reaching me, and even though it’s only like sixty degrees outside (IN FUCKING JUNE!!!), I just got out of the shower and I’m sweating my tits off. I swear to god all I want to do is get up and turn the fan higher but if I do that I might not make it back into this seat and I already feel tremendous guilt over how I wanted to write first thing this AM and now it’s 4pm and here we finally fucking are. 
I don’t know how to talk about depression. I’ve had some practice talking about anxiety and just being mentally ill in general. But I don’t even know how to describe this, now. When I tell my new shrink, I feel like I have to couch my Big Sad Feelings in all these disclaimers, unprompted: how I have No Plans and Look Forward to the Future. And those things ARE true. But I end up overstating those parts of it because I don’t know how to talk about the other parts and maybe I’m not even that bad after all. It doesn’t seem that bad in daylight, in her office, when I think about how good I should feel for Taking Care of Myself by going to therapy. 
I woke up this AM to a text from Connor, letting me know he’d accidentally taken my keys with him to work. He apologized the right amount and even offered to drive the hour roundtrip to return them, but I told him not to worry. Half of me was furious: maybe today would have been the day I got outside and got some shit done and now I can’t bc YOU took my keys. The other half of me was pure, uncut relief. I don’t have to--and in fact can’t--go anywhere or do anything today. 
It was one of those days where everything I decided to do felt wrong. And so I ended up refreshing Twitter until there was nothing left for me there and then almost took a shower but decided to call the pharmacy instead, who told me that my out-of-state doctor wrote my prescription wrong and so they can’t fill my klonopin and now that’s a whole thing. And then I got my gym clothes on and spent 20 minutes (an exaggeration) looking for my spare car key before deciding the last place I’d seen them was in the parking lot of the hotel in Virginia, when we were moving to Ohio, when I handed them to Connor and said, “Here, you should probably take these bc it doesn’t make sense for me to have both.” (I didn’t want to lose both sets, like my mom would, but that kind of planning just bit me in the ass so.)
At the gym, I wanted to elliptical for an hour, thought I’d probably do half an hour and so had mixed feelings when I called it after forty minutes. And I only really made it to the gym bc the new shrink says that bilateral stimulation can help rewire your brain. This might be absolute horseshit, but endorphins are real I think? And I’m kinda desperate. 
As I walked back from the gym and let myself into our unlocked back door, I thought about how weird mental illness is because usually I’d be way too anxious to leave a door unlocked, but today it was depression’s turn to be like, if someone’s waiting inside to murder you, who are you to stand in their way? 
Then, unmurdered, I ate a half a tub of hummus while I waited for my lunch to heat up. Hummus and pickles go really good together, and whenever I eat pickle spears out of the jar with my fingers, I always drink a little juice too. Like a pickleback shot without the whiskey. I ate some strawberries too, but only because we were out of candy. And I couldn’t go to the store to get some because Connor has ALL of my car keys.