It’s getting towards the end of the day and I’m sick again. Time to write poetry.
I should have done this earlier but I spent the afternoon sleeping and this evening reading before working on my previous post. Since I’m tired again and have to be up at seven (new work schedule is new. And tiring), I haven’t got the juice to write something new. It just so happens I have a notebook by my bed with first drafts of poems I scribble when inspiration arrives. Wanna see one?
I think I wrote that one in July or August last year. It’s about the feeling of failure that I carry around with me, that I haven’t lived up to my potential and to family expectations, that my choices have wasted the sacrifices my parents made to send me to university.
It’s one of the elements of my depression; I’m aware of this and the destructive thought patterns that my belief in my failures generates.
It doesn’t stop me feeling that way, but knowing means I can tackle the thought pattern, challenge it.