I have been sleeping for the better part of two days. I spent my weekend in bed. Depression is a bitch.
I just typed in something into google, and instead of what I was looking for, this article popped up: http://www.forbes.com/sites/ericagies/2011/10/31/why-im-not-having-kids-and-you-shouldnt-either/
I only got to the end of the 1st paragraph, then I followed the link, and found out that I was approximately the 80, 717, 035, 067th person to have lived on this earth. Ever.
Eighty billion, seven hundred and seventeen million, thirty five thousand and sixty six people were born in to this world. And then came me.
On the one hand, it makes me insignificant. Just a number, like a prisoner has, just so everybody knows who I am, because there aren't Enough names in the world for everybody to have just one.
On the other, it gives me a place. A context. But still makes me feel very small.
On some days, it seems that I am left to face life's challenges alone. And then I feel selfish for thinking that way, but it's still so hard to get out of bed. I am not actively living my life.