From the Bottom of the Black Hole

I just logged onto Medium, and noticed that it’s been 20 days since I’ve written something here. And I almost couldn’t believe it.

But it doesn’t surprise me. Time has a weird habit of flying by when you’re at the bottom of the black hole. And the first thing to go when my depression kicks in is my creativity, my passion, my stream of ideas, my ability to put in the work to put words together coherently.

I haven’t written any fiction since Donald Trump was elected president. I’ve written very little of anything in the past two months. No poetry, no articles. I’ve done some reading, but any time I try to create, I feel like a broken glass. Whatever goodness I try to fill myself with drains away.

I have no energy. My sleeping and waking up are dictated entirely by my body. When I’m too tired to stay away, I fall asleep. When it gets too hot, I wake up. This creates a by-and-large fucked up sleep schedule … something like 18 hours up, 10 hours down. Any attempts to reset my schedule are completely futile.

I have left the house exactly once since the semester ended and I went to my Mom’s graduation on June 9th. It was for an hour long errand into town. A visit to the Notary; a trip to the grocery store. I have spent about 90% of the last couple of month within the same 1m². Excepting trips to the bathroom and…