It's been eighteen months since I've posted to this blog and almost as long since I've even thought about it. I've made some progress in that time with my writing, with my life, but I've also struggled with some huge family problems and my depression.
I was brought back today though by something very specific and very simple: A bad day. Not bad because of anything that happened but more because of what didn't, more because of what it means is still wrong with me.
I had a very small agenda today: finish a short story, go to the gym and go to a Writer's Workshop. I did NONE of those things. Instead of writing when I woke up this morning, as scheduled, I read fanfiction online. When it was time to go to the gym I read porn. And then, shortly before I was supposed to get ready for the Writer's Workshop, I started cooking and other bullshit.
Now I am here in my house, isolated and lonely, still feeling trapped by depression, procrastination and agoraphobia. I am desperate to meet new people, other writers, but even that desperation was not enough motivation for me today.
I suppose I'm here, posting to my long abandoned blog, because I feel the need to tell someone that I'm disappointed in myself. I am still not who I want to be. And now I'm a year and a half older.
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