once I was a bookworm

It's been a long time.

I don't really know how I feel about blogging anymore. But I'm here writing a post now, so let's just take it one day at a time...

I sleep less and feel more. I need to start writing again. I need to pick a novel off the bookshelf and get reading. No novel sounds good, unless it's about Paris, but that hurts too. I don't really think about that as much anymore but it still hurts. And you have no idea what I'm talking about...Paris, of course! Croissants, and la vie est belle, and I need it.

I'm thinking about reading In Search of Lost Time by Proust but it's so big and scary I doubt whether my noggin' can handle it. I can try though. I used to read complicated books but since depression has taken over my life reading gets complicated. I miss my old bookworm ways, like a lot. When I read I worry about panic attacks, and all the anxiety comes in and it's real scary. I still love reading though, and usually it goes fine, so I can't give up.

I have to stop thinking about sad things and everything bad that could happen. But that's a big wish with an anxiety disorder and depression. This morning I woke up almost ok with being alive...almost. That's, as Donald Trump would say "biggly".

xo, C

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