There's a lot going on in my life right now that I can't write about ... for reasons I can't write about. And not having this blog as an outlet is only adding to my stress.
Sure, I know I can write privately. And I've been doing that somewhat, but it's just not the same. I know I shouldn't need feedback to write. I know I shouldn't need other people to weigh in and tell me everything will work out, but I guess I do.
So I've just sort of stopped. If I can't write about what I want to write about, it feels forced. And I don't enjoy it.
Oddly enough, I don't realize what a healthy thing this blog has been for me until I stop writing. Instead of spending that hour or so every morning reflecting, I've been sitting on the couch watching garbage morning television. I can almost feel myself slipping into mush. A bland blob of blah.
Sure, I realize I'm a little depressed at the moment. Depressed out of worry and frustration because of a situation that is out of my control. And the worst part is I can't talk about it. I can't write about it. And yet it consumes almost every single thought of every single day and night.
And just for the record, Jerry and I are fine. My family is fine. Toby is fine. There are a lot worse things I could be going through. I know I have a lot to be thankful for.
Maybe I'll write more when I can.