sad

Maybe not a good sign that, again, I've started my day off with a good cry. I know I know (I know I know I know) I know I can change my day around. I know that I can switch my perspective. I know that there is a lot of support out there for me and etc and so forth and so on and so this is what I hear constantly and tell myself constantly and it has almost become white noise or that Charlie Brown adult voice. Wa wa wa wa wa wa wa. In other words, they have become platitudes. Platitudes are on par with small talk -- they are insufferable.

But I'm a writer, right? Maybe I can be creative for once and manipulate these platitudes so that they are fresh again. I can hide them in a story (pssssh -- like I write stories) or dress them up in different words. Because they are true. I do know that I create my own universe. <--- THAT is kind of a freaky thought, by the way. (Why? Maybe I don't want that much responsibility.)

I am going to go now. I am too much of a downer. As much as Adderall destroyed my health, it at least gave me a big heaping of euphoria in the morning so that I could actually, you know, write. I feel like an idiot these days. Slow and unable to do the ONE thing that gives me a natural high, which is writing. I can't seem to write, to be nice to myself or others, to read, to be excited about food, to make it through a full day of work, to care about anything other than making it to nighttime so I can sit down and zone out in front of the TV.