Eventually your brain believes that your problems are too insurmountable to get out of bed. And beyond that it starts looking for other escapes. This is not a mood. This not something you shake off. This your brain being broken. It’s lost the ability to process so it wants to shut itself off.
…s me there’s mold in the bathroom. Normally, that’s a slightly annoying thing to have to deal with. But in the midst of depression that problem was the exact same size as the payroll problem. I’d lost the ability to size things up. Every problem was exactly the same size and, having lost the ability to problem-solve, every problem was as insurmountable.
…America that way, everything so perverse, so maddening about it begins to make a little more sense. Life as a constant series of tests, of emotional combat. No leisure time, screaming faces on every kind of media, an inability to feel empathy. The spoils of an entire society to the most predatory. Things like a “Salvation Army” —even virtue itself can only be seen through the eyes of war when a society is a warrior tribe.
None of this is rocket science. My mind is a muscle (idk technically). Writing is an exercise. When I show up to the gym often (for me it is every single day), I will inevitably get stronger. If you want a six-pack for a brain, you better be prepared to hit the gym.