Thoughts on surviving

For people who have been close to me in the old world, my blog is difficult to read, although some of them even are interested in my historical witching novel that will hopefully be written out of all this one day.
At first, I thought this hesitation to read my blog posts might be caused by having me (mostly virtually) around while not dealing well with anything all year, but I have recently discovered that there also is another reason.

I am not constructive.

I have written down often that I started this blog to survive, that I summoned my witch to survive.
When I write to survive, I do not write about nice things, but search the darkest things for traces of light.
With my witch, I emotionally explore a time in which being alive has always appeared cruel to me.
Existing in the 17th century in Europe, between the 30 years war, the plague, and regularly almost dying in labor for a loveless marriage has been done by my witch and so many others, and we still did not unlearn how to feel.
When I write to survive, I face those dark moments and try to figure out why I should want to feel alive despite all of this.
Somewhere in surviving there always is an own kind of beauty and sometimes that is all I need to see, even if it comes down to things at least having been for once and only once.
Even if keeping things that have been in mind and carrying on as long as possible to give some more things a chance to be is all there is.

I am writing this to shut up my head. It keeps telling me to quit my job and to never finish my degree, because things I once loved now make me want to kill myself occasionally.

And I think that through writing I at least in my head can keep alive all these things that were, never got to actually be, and maybe last a little longer.