The stuff in my head

In a book I just finished one of the characters asks another one what his 'drug' of choice was.  Apparently the guy used to have a drinking habit, brought on by his wife's death. Eventually he turned to rock climbing to cope, and that ended up being what gave him a rush and made him feel alive.

Good question.  What's my drug?

Seriously.  I don't have a clue.

When I made time, I'd have told you it was writing.  To get into the thick of writing a story put a gloss and joy in the everyday.  But living too close to my depressive personality has sent that desire packing.  Seems I don't have the energy for that right now.  I sit and stare and think about it more than I do anything about it.  And, yes, I could muster up some energy, probably, but not that interested right now.

Patricia

I'm afraid I'm continuing to struggle with dealing with friends' deaths (especially the most recent back in April) and not succeeding awfully well.  Time.  It all takes time.  Be patient with me while I cope, and don't get fretful with me.  Resist telling me what I need to do.  I do get tired of having my eyes fill with tears out of the blue.

I remember when my neighbor died of ALS five years ago this week, the hospice nurse said to give it, I think she said, 8 years. Grief.  Eight years.  You've got to be kidding.  

Wondering what purpose depression serves?  Making me more understanding with folks who feel down?  Making me more sensitive?  Causing me to see things that busy people miss?  Drawing me nearer to God?  All of the above?  Wish I was allowed an opinion on the subject.