Couldn't write. Well, wouldn't. Couldn't stay away from the oatmeal cookies. Wouldn't. Couldn't get to Curves. Yes, I could; I just wouldn't.
Almost all my can'ts are really won'ts. Such is the majesty of my self-pity that it obscures this fact, but it is true: I could arrange my life to make the things I can't do possible. I just don't do it. I am willing to live without good things I truly desire in order to remain in my trough. This frustrated St. Paul and it frustrates me, two thousand years later. One of several things I have in common with St. Paul.
One thing I've learned is that asking oneself why this is so is a waste of time -- which is exactly what you want when you're in your trough, to waste as much time as possible so you don't have to leave it. This is why unhappy people are so often fascinated with why it is that they are unhappy.
What can I do now? is a better question and it's one that can move you forward. It's also one that should be asked out loud of someone you trust, with a resolve to act on the response you get.
Another thing I've learned is that my feelings ordinarily are not what helps me to get moving again. Asking myself what I feel like doing this morning is a mistake: I feel like going back to bed. Fortunately, we are more than bags of feelings: we also have will, and we have reason. We can make a rule, start small and then just do it. And we can ask for help for someone: someone who has been there, or someone who we know to have our best interests at heart. And we can step down, temporarily, from the lonely throne of our own right to do exactly what we want to do exactly when we want to do it, and allow that person to tell us what to do. And then we can do it. We'll get our autonomy back in a day or two. Once we get moving.
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