Today I’ve had the shittiest of days but I don’t miss my running or writing.

I don’t want to complain too much. I’m sure my shit day was less shit than some other people’s. But it was pretty shit by my standards. I’m managing — mostly failing to manage — a large family, now spread across America’s two coasts. My wife and three kids are in Florida and my oldest son and I have to be in California. A gazillion of different unpaid bills; unresolved schooling arrangements; unresolved housing arrangements; uncertainty all over. Our lives are especially complicated because my young daughter plays tennis and a lot of effort goes into it. We have hopes and dreams but most days are unglamorous, unromantic.

I’d had a few productive days but then overnight a couple of my projects got slowed down, especially in how they impact my bank account.

When I’m stressed, I want to be alone. I drown in my solitude. I am a mole digging deeper underground where no one can reach me. I build a wall around myself, curl up on my side, and doze off to a dreamy place where I can heal my wounds.

The problem is that today I couldn’t even do that property — be alone. For a few days, we are staying with our relatives in their small apartment in San Jose.

Nonetheless, I did sleep — multiple times during the day. On my relatives’ couch, and in my car parked on some random street where no one could reach me. The fatigue from stress was all-consuming. Is this what depression looks like, I often wonder. I wouldn't say I…