where is the love?

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If you suffer from depression you'll understand that feeling of complete and utter despair that can suddenly, seemingly without warning or invitation, reach out and embrace you, holding you tight, not wanting to let go. I'm having that feeling right now, this very second. My chest is tight, the little bubble of anxiety which resides in it always, now expanded to the size of a grapefruit. Or a football, maybe. There are tears willing me to let them fall, but I refuse them their desire. My head is overflowing with thoughts and sadness and worries and hopefulness and hopelessness and ... everything. Oompf is happy to write, but he has no inclination to really do anything else. I've told my feet to move, but they won't. They just sit there, one ankle crossed over the other, and they mock me. I realise that I've spent much of today fiddling with my hands ... a sure sign that things in my head are muffled. I believe that much of this current feeling comes from Brexit. I voted Remain. Husband voted Leave. My entire family voted Remain. Facebook is making me sad, full as it is of vitriol and hate, arguments and passion. I know that the answer is to not go on Facebook, but there's some ridiculous pull to examine the aftermath. We voted. Many of us didn't see the result we wanted. And now the world is full of confrontation and bickering, of people thinking they're more intellectual than their neighbour, or somehow more patriotic or tolerant or caring ... I'm fed up with it. Completely and utterly.