I have no title

Just when I think I've got a handle on this lovey depression, it come to pay me a visit. I've been a bit weepy the past few days and I thought I knew why. Turns out it's just PMS. And my little friend, depression. At least I'm starting to notice a pattern. Not that it makes it any more fun, or makes me feel any better. But at least it's consistent.

Melancholy, it's such a pretty word. A word out of a novel. A dramatic novel, but still. It's such a nicer word than some of the others that could be thrown my way this week. Words like spaz, pain in the ass, whiny, crier, asshat. Although the one person who could throw some words my way, won't. Because he's not that dumb. He likes his cups not thrown at his head, thank you very much.

I don't really want to blog, I don't really want to talk, I don't really want to feel. I just want to curl up in a ball for a few days and sleep.

I force myself to do the things I don't want to do. I've noticed I feel better faster if I do them. This works for me and me alone. I can't say it would work for anyone else, nor would I bother to try. But this space helps me. If I come on here and say, I'm having a suck ass couple of days, I feel better. If I call my friends or chat with friends online and say, I'm sad; I feel better. Yesterday I had to force myself to play with my children. Was I short with them, yes. Did I yell at my dog last night for acting like a dog, yes. Did I make my husband want to throw a cup at my head, yes I did.

So here I am. Me, putting myself out there once again. Showing my insides to the world, just hoping that writing these words help in some way. If you haven't seem me around these past few days, this is why. If I'm not around for the next few days, know this is why. I am okay, I truly am. I'm just feeling kinda blah.