Even this post is dull.

I once read that depression is a crisis of energy. Truer words were never spoken. Because no matter how much I blame my messy surroundings, my lack of sleep, my up-and-down relationship--or any of the other things that weigh heavily on me--for the fact that I just can't bring myself to do anything, the fact is there is no real reason. It just is. And like the chicken and the egg, my boredom leads to depression which leads to boredom and on and on ad infinitum. In the past, this is when I would leave (and as you can see by previous posts, I'm already planning my escape). But now it's not just me and a backpack. There are two whole other people to consider. So it's to be Cleveland for a while.

Which is not to say that I'm unhappy. That's the strangest thing. Every individual battle I've had with depression or anxiety has been a different shape. And this one, the postpartum blues, is different than any other. Because I don't feel sad or anxious. Just a shade duller. A few shades maybe. And so bored that nothing sounds like fun. My baby makes me happy. Little pockets of every day are filled with joy. But overall postpartum depression is a treadmill, a hamster wheel, a long patch of treading water. But I'm still afloat, and I can see the shore from here, and there's my little family there, waiting for me.