This is the part that I find not fair. I feel the need to ‘construct’ happiness. Like it can’t just exist, in and of itself. Of course, it should just exist, maybe this is a sign of depression barking at my door.
Now that I’m out of the fog, I can remember deriving pleasure in the small things, like keeping up with my house. But I read back this morning on some of the things I went through during the fog, and it has landed me right back in this place.
So I shall pull myself up by the bootstraps, and get back into life. Because I hated the fog. I just didn’t know it.
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