I should be happy but I’m not. I’ve been sleeping far too much. I don’t want to get out of bed, don’t want to do much anything at all. I pushed back the release date for my second book twice now, and instead of making use of the days, I’m wallowing in self-pity and wondering why the fuck I should even bother.
I thought after I got my first book out, after I started my dream career, I’d have the motivation to do more. But I’m right back where I was, still doubting and worrying and just wishing I could give up.
Not suicidal, there are people who would miss me. I just wish I could sleep. Close off the world so I don’t disappoint anyone.
Oh, and I have meds. I’ve been… forgetting to take them. Which is stupid of me.