I know with my depression, I have lost a lot of interest in the things I once enjoyed. When I think about doing them I am filled with anxiety, so, at this point, I skip them altogether. My T thinks it is because I refuse to allow myself joy. I don't dispute this.
On a side note, which I would think you would appreciate. I love books, especially old books. I read one this past summer that was a hundred years old. Anyhow, my FIL was getting rid of some barrister bookcases that his father had collected over the years, with some old books he collected at estate sales. I talked him into letting us have them. I had to strip them of the ugly greenish paint they had. They are, though not perfect, absolutely beautiful and I have lined my living room with them. They are one of the few things I have done over the last few years that I pat myself on the back for and thoroughly enjoy. Even if it is just looking at them. I feel a bit guilty for saying that, as if it is self centered. But, considering I don't do it often, I figure it is okay. :shy:
On a side note, which I would think you would appreciate. I love books, especially old books. I read one this past summer that was a hundred years old. Anyhow, my FIL was getting rid of some barrister bookcases that his father had collected over the years, with some old books he collected at estate sales. I talked him into letting us have them. I had to strip them of the ugly greenish paint they had. They are, though not perfect, absolutely beautiful and I have lined my living room with them. They are one of the few things I have done over the last few years that I pat myself on the back for and thoroughly enjoy. Even if it is just looking at them. I feel a bit guilty for saying that, as if it is self centered. But, considering I don't do it often, I figure it is okay. :shy: