I was going to write about solidarity networks and community. I was going to write about the pandemic and the irony of understanding the need for communal living during a time of forced isolation. Well, there. I guess I just did write about it.

I’m feeling low. Day one of my cycle and it’s been a slow decline over the course of the day. Usual strategies of favourite activities, comfort foods, and emotional sobriety have had little effect. I recognize my emotional state for what it is, but its hard not to spiral down when my thoughts get carried away.

Everything feels harder on days like today. The state of the world feels heavier. The worries of being a mom feel more pervasive. I try and remember that it doesn’t always feel like this, that the glorious high days still exist in memory and of course will return.

Depression is such a beast because its self feeding: Acknowledgement of my ingratitude breeds more disdain which breeds more ingratitude in an endless cycle. My mood usually breaks when I can finally recognize the futility and convince myself that I’m insignificant enough to really matter, inevitably releasing myself from responsibility so I can just go on living my life. From where I am right now, this sounds a bit ridiculous but I’ve noticed the pattern in the past so I’ll be ready when my mood shifts.

For now, sleep. Tomorrow, more time outside and maybe some really good dark chocolate.