If only being around people wasn’t so hard.
If only I could care about the things that, at least intellectually, I would like to care about.
If only I wanted to spend Thanksgiving with family like “normal” me would; or at the very least, if only I thought that it would be tolerable.
If only depression didn’t get in the way so often.
If only I didn’t have this stupid illness.
But it is. I can’t. I don’t. It does. I do.
But I can find things to be grateful for every day.
But I have a home that is comfortable and secure.
But I have five little furbabies whose adorable faces bring light to every day.
But I’m doing the best I can.
And really, that’s what matters.