In some ways I’ve missed the big old black dog, but he always reappears to sit on my chest sooner or later. I’ve been trying to ignore him. That said, the flat greyness has been gathering the last month or two, taking fuel from anything that might seem to reinforce my general low opinion of myself.

Today I wasn’t working, and if I’m proud of anything it’s that I didn’t head down the pub, or binge eat; I didn’t hide in bed, and I didn’t do anything stupid to damage my health or general body integrity.

What I did do was get some rest, got up and dressed, washed and did grocery shopping. I distracted myself with the XBox; I doodled in a big sketch pad, and I read for a bit. I bought things for Easter, and a birthday present and card for somebody. Then, when Lady M got home, I cooked a meal and we watched Fantastic Beasts on Blu-Ray.

I’m proud that I’ve managed to do all that, because I don’t feel much of anything at the moment. I’m running on empty. I’m too tired and remote to even feel worried about it; and intellectually​ I know I should be quite concerned about that.