When The Glass Is Empty

You know that glass half full/half empty thing? I've always maintained to be a half full kind of gal... optimistic even in my darkest days of depression. On better/best days the glass is overflowing. I've also had days where the glass is full but the contents are a little on the side of piss and vinegar. I take it all in stride..... but I'm not sure what to make of the realization that the glass is just sitting there empty.

It's not so much about depression as it is just feeling stuck. I want to write... and then, I don't. I mean I don't want to write. I don't even attempt it! The blog posts have been few and far between. What I thought was a dry spell finally broken has proved wrong.  I'm pretty much as stagnant as stagnant can be. And that IS depressing.

Or Am I????

Or is it? I can't tell because the part of me that doesn't want to write also says I sorta don't even care. It's a strange conundrum of sorts.

My writers group has helped keep me from going under in that I realize I am not alone. That several gals struggle with feeling stuck. Writers block. Or lack of time to devote to writing. So, I take hope in that. But I don't think its writers block. And it's certainly not a lack of time. I have always made time in the past to write. It's always been a priority. Till now.

Sure, I am busy. I'm working part time, I'm building my jewelry business, I'm a wife and a business partner, I'm a grandma and a daughter, a friend and a sister. But that's never stopped me before. In fact it has often spurred me on.

In all honestly it's not just the writing that's bothering me. I feel stuck in other areas. I've lost interest in things that use to bring me joy.  I'm sure I present as if all if fine but there's a place deep inside that feels pretty dog gone empty.

I start questioning the anti-depressants... are they just not working so good anymore? And I resist going there because I really don't want to  mess with the prescription and play that game of finding out what might work better and experience side effects that I know from the past are just no fun. I tell myself that this too shall pass and that just because I don't feel like writing doesn't necessarily mean that my depression is acting up.

I've forced myself to sit here today and write this. It feels uncomfortable. It kind of hurts. Yet there is a sort of release in the midst of it, like --and pardon this yucky metaphor but I can't shake the image-- like the release one experiences when you pop a big icky pimple. Gross, I know-- sorry!! but the pain is being squeezed out of me as I pressure myself to write.

My sister prayed over me the other day for a release to come in my writing. I want to believe that this might be it. But as I said, that break through I had back in the spring must not have taken because here I am again.

What keeps me hanging on and not loosing hope entirely is my faith in Christ. Whether I am in the center of His Will or stumbling just outside the circle, I know He's got me. That gives me the courage to try again. It keeps me from letting the shadows of self doubt consume me. And it gives me the grace to allow myself time for whatever is going on to pass.