I am in a slump.
At rare moments I resurface as my older self and at moments I sink into depression.
Bad thing is it's not a clear cut depression. I can't feel sad. It's not the pure kind of sadness that fogs over my heart now, it's strange. A grey cloud of matter, shadowy matter that's inhibiting my balance of personality.
I miss the days when I could grieve in peace. If I was in depression, I'd know why and I'd allow myself the space to sink in. But now it's so strange, I'm floating, depressed, aimless.
It is very bad. I need to finish reading this novel. Perhaps after that I'd rise from this sick miasma of misery. Conspicuous. I am not being inconspicuous about things. In a way, I'm running away from facing this issue myself, that explains my inconspicuous behavior.
It's sad. Sadly, not a pure clear form of sadness.
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