It was awful. Valentine's Day, my birthday, and cabin fever - in addition to already being in a depression? - it was more than awful. It was horrendous. It was a disaster.
If I wasn't running nilly willy, I was parked on my couch with Netflix/Hulu. I made lame attempts at life in general. I couldn't write. I couldn't read. I tried to convince myself I was moving on. Going forward. Or just going.
Reality: I wasn't even faking it anymore. I was stopped. Stopped at a place in my grief where I couldn't cry any more, I didn't have the energy to be angry, but yet I couldn't take the step of acceptance.
All month long there were little reminders that This was not how February was supposed to be. This was not how it looked in my head in December. This was not right and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. This sucked.
I thought to myself, "If I can get through February, I'll be okay." I lied to myself. It's March and This still sucks. The sun is shining, the snow is melting, there's a breath of spring in the air... and I'm still stuck in Suckville.
I'm trying. I picked up a book and finished it. I am going to pick up my writing. I am going to get back on track with my 2015 goals. (I did manage to stick to 2 cups of coffee and lots of water - most days. At least I didn't completely fail.) I am going to clean my house. I am going to become a human being again. One preferably with GOOD feelings.