Stuck in the Funk

I’ve been in a funk lately. A real, heavy one.

The kind where you’re technically “doing all the right things.” I’m going to therapy, taking my medication, staying busy enough that life keeps moving forward. On paper, it looks like I’m managing. But inside? It feels like I’m dragging myself through mud.

I haven’t been writing. I haven’t been showing up here on my blog. Honestly, I haven’t been showing up for myself at all. I just… haven’t been. If that makes sense.

I did start baking again, which at first felt like a spark of joy. But sometimes even that feels like a chore. And it makes me wonder, why do things that once felt so warm and life-giving now feel like boxes to check off? Why does waking up feel like a chore in itself?

Every day feels like dread: I dread working. I dread activities. I dread everything except being home with Eric and Penny. That’s the one place I feel some kind of peace, the one space where the funk doesn’t feel so loud. And even with my friends, I feel torn in two — I don’t want to bail on them, but at the same time I want to bail on them. It’s like my brain can’t find a balance between wanting connection and needing escape.

Living with BPD means these funks hit harder than just “having a bad week.” They sneak up and wrap around me like fog. Even when I’m doing the things I’m supposed to do, the therapy, the meds, the routines, the fog doesn’t always lift. And that’s frustrating. Because it makes me question myself: Am I doing enough? Am I enough? Why does it still feel this way?

Maybe that’s the hardest part of it all, knowing I’m trying, knowing I’m fighting, but still feeling stuck.

So, here I am, writing this. Not because the funk is gone, but because maybe this is the first step back into myself. Even if my words don’t come easy. Even if I don’t have a clean resolution. Maybe it’s okay to admit that I’m here, in the middle of it, with no bow to tie on top.

If you’ve been here too, in the fog, in the funk, you’re not alone.