Dark is the night and long is the wait. The muffled whispers of cars pass and somewhere in the distance a dog barks....
I sit and I falter - cool breeze blows in from the beach. Sigh. Take a sip of instant coffee - Sanka.
The depression kicks in and it is insidious. I live in fear and distrust of everyone - I have become such a recluse. I realise I have wrote of this in the past, but it has come to be.
I need a different local - I live too comfortable. Nice house, pleasant surroundings. I can't live like this - it's not my time/space location.
Writing? I am not a writer. Never pretended to be. Just a tape recorder of natural events and I report them.
I am utterly alone and being filled with so much guilt, paranoia, and fear - I constantly dwell on those miserable nostalgic events constantly.
I fill these voids of momentary diversions with drugs, alcohol and lifeless romance. But, flying solo even with these insidious diversions makes it even more depressing afterwards.
The main question in my mind is: What am I going to do? My future is blank and unpredictable, the past a vast graveyard of dead meaning, and the present a vacuumous void.
I seriously, honestly, deeply do not want to live...really no point in it...
2 comments:
there's always a point to living, babe.
sometimes it's not easy for us to see--we're the special ones, the ones fucked in the head by genetics, the ones predisposed to not have life handed to us on a platter.
simple things that are so easy for others are complicated by our brains...the inability to shut off said brain, to know when to say enough is enough, to know when to get out.
i like to think of it as a gift. so what if depression comes along with it? it's just a glitch in the road, a synapse misfiring...life will go on.
i know this far too well.
Don't deprive us of your interesting, entertaining and insightful writing. Keep writing. Just lay off the meth and you'll be fine in a week. Success will come.
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