Who cares?

Sometimes, often, like today, and ten days ago, and last month...

Sometimes I wonder how can I fight my depression if my "me-time" is non existent. And actually when in my "me-time" I want to do absolutely nothing bit staring at the ceiling or at the sky crying out loud because Alberto is not here with me.

I also often wonder if that kind of "me-time" is indeed my depression, and if I could fight it engaging in diy hobbies, writing, reading, knitting, sewing, socialising, doing home chores, spending time for burocracy and bills, tending to the garden, caring for my mum.

Usually the doubt fades away because I am forced to do some of the thing I mentioned - specifically mum, home, burocracy.

In the end I do what my sense of responsibility calls me to do. But all the time (even when it comes to hobbies) it's not what I want to do (which is... staring and crying).

So here I am, wondering again... But this time with another thought crossing my mind - who cares? I certainly don't. Deep down I feel that all these brooding, all these feelings, my whole life, will (sooner or later) be over and I will stop staring, crying and wondering.