homebody

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with good friends, Charley and Tebs, on a random, spontaneous night out at Poblacion

I haven’t been going out at all these past few weeks. It’s probably even been a whole month that I’ve just been going straight home after work and just staying home, even on the weekends. I just haven’t been in the mood to go out. I just seem to prefer to stay home to work, watch shows on streaming sites (thank you, Netflix and iFlix), and cook my own food.

But I have gone out but only around the area here in Poblacion and with just a small group of close friends. I really just prefer hanging out with my closest friends and we usually just talk and drink and we’re home before midnight. It’s intimate and manageable and it doesn’t get too crazy.

And I prefer it, really, to the alternative.

I have just not been in any mood to go out and experience the throng of people and the chaos that comes with it. I find it strange and I wonder if it is connected to any form of depression. I’m happy. I’m content. I like that I can work and teach and then just come home and not have to go out. I like the simplicity of it and if I want to be around people or see my friends, it’s in a contained space where I can just deal with them and not have to “share” them with the rest of the people around us.

I’m an extrovert and I love connecting with people but that hasn’t been the case recently. And while my teaching is doing okay. I’m still getting the hang of it, but my writing has suffered. It’s like squeezing blood from a stone. The words are coming out slowly and the ideas are unoriginal or uninspired.

That’s where the fear comes from. The fear that I might be suffering from a sort of depression. I have everything I want or need. Consistent and fast Internet, my own space, everything nearby and handy, and I still see my friends if I need to feel like I belong somewhere. Why aren’t the words coming?

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Saw Micah Munoz and Madeleine Humphries (my Sandbox No Filter family) while I was out one night and it was so good to see them again

I know depression is a hot topic right now and I probably am not depressed and it might be offensive for me to ask whether I am or not. I apologize if it is. But I do have bouts of inactivity and only doing the bare minimum sometimes and I’ve always attributed that to a sort of depression. An inability to work and try to reach my goals, which is my default more.

I’m a fighter. I always soldier on and even when I have actual reasons to be sad, I just push forward. I write. I go out and dance. I deal with it. When I lose that will, that frightens me because it’s something I don’t know or understand. I don’t recognize myself when it happens.

But I have no reason to be depressed. Weirdly enough, I am depressed by my inability to write and it’s a vicious cycle because I think the reason why I can’t write or I don’t want to go out is because I’m depressed.

So which is it?

I don’t know. But I know, on paper, I’m fine. I’m eating. Eating well. I write my reviews. I’m teaching and I’m getting back into the groove of it. Paying my bills. I still see my friends.

So how come I’m so scared that I’m depressed?

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