It is now mid-October, 20 months since I left my office, expecting to be gone for two weeks, working from home while we waiting for this virus to pass by.

I went in this summer for a day and there was my March 2020 calendar, still sitting there with all sorts of notes on it for things that never happened. There is a part of me that could work like this forever, and a part of me that feels totally disconnected from everything we’re doing.

And then there’s home.

You would think that being here all the time would mean cleaning more regularly, keeping on top of things, cooking more meals, having better routines. But everything is hard.

Every day, late afternoon, everything starts to feel heavy. As though my body starts to feel the weight of the universe.

I am stuck in a place where everything feels hard. Everything feels hard and my head is telling me that I’m incapable, which is really unhelpful.

I’m trying to decide what to do next and this voice in the back of my head that is my mental illness says ‘why even bother, you’re not going to get it done anyway.’

I’ve been watching online classes and training and the little voice says ‘why practice, you’ll never be that good.’

It’s a real bitch.

I just want to keep getting better, and when you have a mental illness that tells you you’re a failure it really doesn’t help. It also doesn’t help that the getting better always involves more. Reading more, watching more classes, practicing more, exercising more, spending more time, sleeping more, thinking more, cooking more.

All of these without any more time in the day.

And when I sit down to do the more sometimes there is just nothingness. Brain goes blank. I don’t know what to write or draw or whatever else I’m doing. I’m trapped in inertia.

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