Sucky crappage

I just had a quiet moment with myself.
Never a good idea.
I know I’m depressed.
The rages.
The absolute dissatisfaction with everything in my life.
The feeling of not being able to get a breath so suffocating is the reality around me.
That simmering sense of resentment.
About everything.
I’m not really teary this time.
Not weepy.
Not overly anxious.
Thank goodness. The depression that comes with anxiety attacks is truly suckful. In fact, something like 98 per cent of successful suicide attempts have a record of anxiety attacks. And I would totally believe it.
More just permanently pissed off.
And I know that is not the way to approach the world.
That I should be giving thanks.
Should have a heart bursting with love.
Should should should.
Should be thrilled at our new very large dining room table that can seat fourteen.
But can only focus on the fact that:
– it is yet another family handmedown
– it is not the style of table I would buy if we had any form of disposable income to buy a table
– it needs some minor structural work involving angle brackets and screws
– I had to carry it all in with the delivery guy
– it’s in pieces on the floor
– I still have two other dining room tables cluttering up our living area
– I will have to be involved in removing them as well
– Someone is excellent at providing a commentary on it all like did they have to get rid of it straight away, couldn’t they have stored it for you
– our over-crowded open plan living area is now so over-crowded you can not walk anywhere without having to walk over something

GOD if I keep going you’ll find me retiring to the back paddock with the shotgun.

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