Apathetic. It's a word that I've always used to describe other people, like my brother, but never for me. I've always been kind of all over the emotional scale, highs and lows and rarely the in-betweens.
But for some reason, in my journey with depression and anxiety and all of those fun things, apathy has reared its head.
It's not that I'm apathetic towards everything. Far from it, in fact. I get excited about things, I get sad about things, I get really happy about things. But when it comes to thinking about myself, I just don't care. When did I last shower? Who knows, and who cares because it's not like I ever leave the house. Do I look like a hot mess? Probably, but no one will judge and if they do I just don't care.
I spent two solid days in thermals from Old Navy because oh well. Every time I looked in the mirror, in the loose and unflattering lounge wear, I just didn't care. My kids aren't going to tell me I smell; my husband isn't going to comment on it, just to be polite. And let's be honest - I see him for roughly an hour or two on weekdays. He leaves for work before we wake up, and gets home shortly before bedtime.
I know that I need to kick this apathy. My bestie has been great, suggesting things to help me kick my own ass. Hopefully tomorrow the kids and I will get out for a walk. Even just a short one. Something to get us out of the house, and kick me out of this funk.
I'm not going to hold my breath though.
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