for too long my depression had me convinced that I am completely worthless. I am always tired; no matter how much sleep I get, I want more. I don’t want to leave the house. I don’t even want to leave my own bed. I want to pull the covers up to my chin and sink into my pillow.
I know I am guilty of allowing myself to be controlled by the circumstances of this imperfect life. I only blame myself for all the things I cannot change, or the people I couldn’t make stay.
I am making attempts at giving myself permission to let go.
life is too short and too imperfect to walk around so low.