No therapy from now (well, from Monday) until 16 July. And people actually take sabbaticals on purpose? It's times like these when it hits me ... well, not how much therapy is a part of my life, but how much I take it for granted now, after just two years of going every Wednesday and some (nowhere near every) Sunday. And although I am quite pleased with my progress, I realise right now how very far away I am from being done.

But. There are other fine things in the world. There was Lain at Kirby's last night, with Chrisber and Christy and Jim and eventually Angie. There was cake and ice cream and gossip and bad underwear-focused anime as well, after the two episodes of Lain, all of which involved a lot of giggling. This was good.

(Exceptionally long pause to flail about, watch Chrisber sew, eat cold cereal for dinner, hug Jim, and flail about a bit more.)

G-d. I'm depressed. Being depressed is so weird. Knowing that this isn't how I really feel, but is some combination of broken chemicals and recovery issues, but having that knowledge do nothing to change how I feel -- weird, weird, weird. Like seeing myself through rippled glass. I just want to crawl into bed and sleep until I feel like myself again. The worst is the sort of pervasive low-level nature of the feeling... I'm not angry or sad or anything else that I could vent, just quietly wrapped in cotton wool and not even sure why. Well. I know what it is & I'm not actually helpless against it; I can take care of myself by doing nice things, and I'm going to start right now. Which means no more writing, sorry, but also thank you. Why am I thanking you? Because naming things is magic; naming the depression shakes me back into myself enough that the depression lifts some and I can start remembering with my heart that the way I feel right now isn't who I am. And I only have that because I felt like I ought to write in here tonight. So -- thank you.