If you can't stop it from happening, what's the point in recognizing when depression hits?
Mood downswings are not fun. I've been fighting the doldrums for a week now, and while there have been some ups--we went into San Francisco yesterday and did some touristy stuff we've never done in the 12 years we've lived in the Bay Area, for instance--for the most part, it's been me trying not to sink too low and actually start crying in front of anyone. I don't know why. Nothing seems to have triggered it. I've been mildly productive in getting more of my backlist rehomed, and I got some lovely comments yesterday for that fanfic writer appreciation day thing that was going around. So why the blues, self?
I think part of it is general anger and distaste with my body right now. The hardest part about losing weight when you've been heavy your entire life is all the loose skin, and for me, it's hit hardest on my thighs. They look terrible, and it's increasingly hard for me to not fixate on how awful they look. I know losing weight is better for me--my joints and my general health need it--but seriously, it sucks that it looks so bad as a result. It's not helped that the cysts that have plagued all the women in my family hit me worst on my thighs, too.
My fear and anxiety about dipping my toes back into Spuffy fiction isn't helping, either.