Nothing I write has been appealing to me, even grateful as I am that I can finally move my dominant hand properly after spraining all three joints of my forefinger. It’s been a month and my mental health has been poorer than usual, but life is getting hectic and isn’t going to wait for me to feel ok getting out of bed.
Having many responsibilities and dealing with mental illness wears me down but I’m starting to learn to be grateful for this body that does so much for me. It carries my weird whiny brain around, tolerating endless self abuse. My body belongs to the mind of a confused animal and my mind belongs to the body of a confused animal.
I’m under a fair amount of stress right now but practicing gratitude where I can has helped me reprioritize. I know I haven’t been doing everything in my capability to sustain myself, my body, and that needs to change.
Life is what it is, I have more to be grateful for than I can possibly count. This doesn’t negate everything else life is but I want to keep it in mind. Gratitude brings me far more reward than rumination.
Even if I’m not happy with anything I write, I’m glad I can write.
I grateful for the time I spend with my fiancé, for the support I have from my family, for this little hill I live on in this little valley, and all the wisdom of the many people I’ve learnt from.