WHAT'S UP WITH DANYUL?

It feels like it's been ages that I've just sat and blogged. I've had tonnes of ideas written up and lined up for Delectables with Dan, literally 3 pages of notes and what did I get done? One. Fucking one Delectables with Dan. It's not just that I'm looking back at the number of blogs I usually do per month, not December cause like that's a special month for shit, but I'm sat here wondering what the fuck is wrong with me. I have no motivation. I have no drive. I have so many ideas for blogs, so many things that I want to talk about, ideas I want to explore, but most days I don't get out of bed until at least half two in the afternoon or if it's a really bad day, half three. A few days I've not dragged my arse out of bed at all. 

I've not worked on anything at all really. I've got some writing done. I'm behind on a book that's supposed to be released in June of this year. I'm behind on my two other projects, my bakery idea has stalled for now. I can't focus on anything. Everything is so completely boring and useless. There's no meaning. If I can manage to focus on something its only for a few hours at most, then I slip back into the lazy waters of depression. I'm stripped of my energy. I'm a prisoner in my body. I wish I could just crawl out of this meat puppet and into a new one; into a new life. I almost don't know what to do with myself. This past month has seemingly lasted an eternity and it's entirely filled with manic highs, deep depressive, sedation, drug spirals, self-harm and a bit of passionate heavy petting.

I feel my thoughts racing out of control as I lay trapped in my body, the boredom like a chemical assault team racing through me, eating away at my vital organs and only slowing my physical form further. I cannot handle the boredom, yet I can't gain any proper focus. It's seriously like running about like a chicken with his head cut off. How many things can I shovel onto my plate and not eat is the game I'm always playing, both metaphorically and literally. Sometimes I haven't the foggiest as to why I do these things. Why I get myself into certain situations and then have the inch my way out of a corner? I've been bouncing all around, depressive, heavily depressive days into the evening and then about the middle of the night I start to perk up, become almost gleeful at things, dashing about slurping diet cola and indulging in chemical treats. And like a whirlwind, I race through the room until the drugs fully circulate through me and I become a sort of macabre marionette. Someone else or something else inside me pulls my strings and I smile for the crowds and hem and haw. I sing and dance and twirl about. 

It's by the light of the moon that I pen out things, rattling, perhaps even faster than usual, through a cycle of emotions and thoughts. Then it stops. I'm finally too tired and I need to ride the high into slumber. Sometimes I can't sleep at all. I sit, bathed in the glow of my laptop screen eyes darting about taking in all that I can. Watching, learning and observing. Hours and hours of documentaries I've taken in, sometimes I just listen to them. I'll put on a podcast and just lay in the darkness allowing the voice of the narrator to wash over me. It's mind-numbing, but I retain so much. I just can't shake the depression. It's getting worse and I don't know what I can do. Last year was gruelling on my mental health and this year's started out in the worst way possible. I'm looking for a new therapist, but then I just get so hopeless and I give up and return to the bed where I spend my days just curled up. Hald the time I'm not even asleep. I can count the sleepless nights from the purple like blotches under my eyes. I've gotta get off of this ride.