232 Days.

It has been 232 days since my last blog post.

I have been mostly absent on social media. I have hidden myself away amongst my frustration. What am I frustrated about, you ask? LIFE.

In the past few months, it’s been a damned nuisance.

My husband and I have been through hell and back. And again. Then back. There again. And back again. To hell again. And on. And on. And on.

I won’t get in to the personal messy details that the four of you (my best estimate of actual readership) don’t care about. But it’s been a right pain in the arse.

Life is already bittersweet as a sensitive, artistic soul, and the on-going trials and debilitating depression don’t much help. I’m trying new medication, devoting myself once again to diligent physical fitness, and am making sure to add vitamins and supplements to help with both.

I want to be angry. But I also want to laugh.

For instance, when reassessing my meds the doctor ordered a blood test and I discovered I was deficient in vitamin D. Vitamin D is typically absorbed by the sun. I live in New Orleans. *Insert facepalm.* Only I could maintain a vitamin D deficiency in New Orleans, Louisiana…

Of course, as ironic as it may be, it isn’t really surprising if you know me because: 1) I hate sunshine and 2) I hate New Orleans. Ok hate is a strong word… Let me rephrase. I hate living in New Orleans. I tried.

New Orleans isn’t the absolute worst place in the planet, but I’m basically allergic to it. Also, it hates me so why am I being polite? (Yes. It hates me. Two cars flooded in one month counts as a hate crime.)

This place just isn’t for me. I hate heat, humidity and sweating. I’m not into voodoo or football. I grew out of binge drinking in college.

I am not conservative or republican. I’m also not catholic. And I’m not into musical festivals. Heck, I’m allergic to peppers. I told you: allergic.

My husband is patient, sympathetic, and empathetic. But I try to minimize my complaints because he’s pretty much my only outlet. Just mentioning that the heat is not my favorite elicits an expression of disappointment and offense from locals, so I’ve learned to just be polite and change the subject. But it’s isolating. A few months ago I tried to find any articles or posts about people who shared my feelings… I found nothing. In all of reddit and all of the internet, I found no one else willing to vocalize their mutual distaste. (Internets, you failed me.)

I write all this whiny nonsense to let you know I’m not giving up, I’ve just been in the middle of a few rounds. Severe depression aided by seasonal affective disorder is fucking hard. I’m sorry it is. There’s no way around it. (And no other words for it. Trust me they don’t do it justice.) BUT that’s just it; there’s no way around it so me and my hubs are pressing through.

And if you’re fighting too, I’m here for you. If you’re a struggling artist, if you feel alone… don’t give up.

Pick yourself up and come and bitch to me about it. I’ll pour the wine.

P.S. Seriously. Comment or contact me. I’ll be your indulgent pen pal.