Icy hand

I can feel it. Creeping in, darkening the world. Making me feel like I can't stay awake, and not sure why I should even bother to try.

There's a bad bout of depression looming over me.

I think the thing is, it makes me so tired and so run down by life that I don't have the energy to fight it. It sucks all my will to get things done and be active right out the window and I just don't care. I just need to sleep. And it's a fight that no one can fight for me. Whenever someone, aka Steve, tries it either comes across as lies- "But you're so great at that!"- or bullying- "You can't take a nap. Get up!" Yes, there are things I want to do, but I can't. I simply cannot will myself to give a fuck.

Things that usually piss me off grate a whole hell of a lot more, too. People's ability, or more to the point their lack of ability to drive makes me cringe on a good day. Lately, it's sent into an absolute rage. Like a take a baseball bat to their windshield type of rage. And no, I haven't done that and I won't, but fantasizing about it is inevitable.

Normally, I'm upset that we live in the cruddiest little rental house and simply don't have the space to do the things we want to do. Everything is broken or falling apart, but the landlord and handyman don't seem to care. I feel like we're living in little better than a slum. Now the housing prices are going up again, and I don't feel like we'll ever get our own place again. I think it's one of the sharpest thorns in my side because we had it once. In New Zealand, we had our house. It wasn't perfect, but it was damn close, and we were making it better. It had our space, and we had a community where we belonged. I kick myself every day for giving in and giving it all up. Especially now that it keeps looking more and more like we'll never get even a fraction of it back.

I don't know. Maybe a miracle will happen. They don't happen to me, but maybe to Steve. Or maybe we'll die here in this horrible slum rental. Destitute and alone in an area that couldn't care less.