I'll go right ahead and say it; I suffer from severe clinical depression.
It seems weird to blurt it out loud, especially in text. Like it's not real, somehow. Like there's some sort of analytical distance between me and the abstract that shadows me on a daily basis. I wish it were as ephemeral as that, but it's something I've had to learn to live with for more than half my life, now. As a concept it's only just rearing its ugly head from the taboo of discussing mental illness despite how many people will be affected at least once in their lives. It's something that really needs to be discussed, even if understanding it remains elusive to th
Yup, it's time for another ramble. I'm not going to lie to you. I'm probably here because I'm doing my level best to avoid opening Photoshop and staring balefully at any number of projects that are either in a state of unfinishable unfinishableness or are at a point where they conceivably could be finished but there's something small that's off with some tiny aspect no one will ever notice that's stopping me wrapping it up, saying 'fuck it' and publishing it. That was a really long sentence. I hate calling myself a perfectionist because I know well and good that there's no such thing as perfection but when something I need to get right eludes