(or, the internet hermitage of tyler w. weaver)
Though I’ve been diagnosed with major depressive disorder, I never felt it accurately described my brainpain; BPD felt more apposite and, while my current med cocktail keeps the worst of it at bay (most of the time), the ping-ponging between feeling everything and feeling nothing but emptiness (generally skew this way) is fucking exhausting. Hopefully this excellent piece is the start of deeper research into an under-examined aspect of the disorder.
First time in more than a week that I've enjoyed my early morning writing time. While I've always known that it was an essential part of my day, a balancing ritual to the last month’s seemingly endless swirl of shit, the past few days – and the enjoyment derived from it this morning – made visceral just how much it's required to keep me from falling too far into… less beneficial directions.
Holding pattern continues as general and pervasive exhaustion settles in for the long haul upon my person and brings with it the unwelcome plus one of flaring BPD made more so because I'm too exhausted to keep myself in check but happily happy pills are holding their own and keeping the worst of flare-up proclivities at a corporeal minimum, mental being another story, though the day away has helped reestablish my self-policing abilities and, while I’ve little interest in work or anything similar my favorite part of the hospital's chiptune Minuet in G hold music is when it cuts out for half a second and sounds like there's some epic profanity being bleeped out.