Life.

My Life. That’s the title for most of my e-mails to my therapist. That or simply “me”. The title is supposed to be the subject matter of the e-mail and I’m not asking him how he is or telling him fun facts. I also don’t get replies. I just write about myself. Luckily for you, I decided to take that monumentous effort of writing and transcribe it here on a blog so that instead of having one person read this, two people can benefit from listening to my story.

I have so much to say. Luckily I have all night to say it. The night is young. I had a few miniscule samosas for dinner. Burned my finger while taking them out of the oven. They were frozen, from Vons. Got to love food that’s pre-made. I’m finishing the wine bottle I started last week. It’s just me, here, alone with the wine. I have nothing to lose, so why not? My life just isn’t that interesting. Having a glass of wine spices up the week.

My grandparents sent me a check for Diwali. It’s an Indian holiday that we celebrate with lighting special oil kheer lamp candles. I don’t celebrate on my own, but I’ve been to their house before, for the celebration. My Nani (maternal grandmother) always makes really good Indian food. I have fond memories. It’s so hard to hold on to those good memories, sometimes.

I’ve been making it through the last couple nights by focusing on babies. I finally logged back onto Facebook after having not been on there for over a year, and I found out that one friend from high school just had a baby and another one is pregnant. I love new life. I think it is so precious. It merits the mental energy I put toward it. I also used to be a volunteer baby cuddler. It was the best volunteer job ever. In the NICU. All I would do is sit there for three hours a week and cuddle babies. I wish I could find out how to do that again. I did it for almost two years, and it got me through the trauma and troubles I was going through at the time.

I started this blog two hours ago. Since then, I’ve texted and had a phone conversation, and finished my glass of wine. I suppose I’m not in the mood for writing any longer, which doesn’t make it fair to you if you’re going to take the time to listen to me. So I’m going to sign out for the night, wish you a farewell, and until next time, when I find my words and have more eloquent things to say.

My depression on a scale of 1 – 10 today? I’m about a five. Right, smack in the middle. It’s important to acknowledge where we are on the scale. I think of my scale as 10 being the most depressed, not the DBSA scale for bi-polar which is 10 for the most manic and 1 for suicidally depressed. I’m just right in the middle of being okay. A three would be more ideal, less depressed by all means. I am going to go to bed forcing myself to think of babies and their cute little feet.

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