Depression is a monster, and it's not even a very active one. It's more like a slime or a sludge or an ooze or a pudding, once you know what it is. It clings to your legs, slows you down, makes the struggle seem futile, until you want to give up because 'What's the point?'. Then it creeps up and swallows you. ... Elder Black Pudding Depression. (I enjoy the pun that is "inky death" in the descriptor of that link. Which is a good sign.)
It's not rational either. Anxiety & Depression feed one another, and both are extremely irrational. Crazy with a capital K.
I spent the better part of this last week practicing "fake it til you make it", without much success, but just enough to keep moving. That's why there were no blog updates containing any writing; I didn't do any.
Last night I finally pounded out a fresh 750'ish words, and over half of those are going in the can. This is not helping my ascent from the hole where that crazy part of my brain keeps telling me that I have nothing of value to contribute, but... it's still progress.
I am hopeful - and being kicked by my depression for every ounce I muster - that I will have offerings here to the muses, myself, and readers this week.
I also start school tomorrow.
In the meantime, I wan to share words from other people about this monster (I'm afraid I don't have any witty titles for these):
http://hollylisle.com/live-to-write-another-day/ -- I really love Holly's stuff. Her voice is so honest.