Deaf Depression

Can you hear me when I say I need you here? I'm so depressed I could skin a cat, and yet I refrain. I must be sane, but the insanity inside my head bumbles so loudly I must look crazy. I know how to dump this trashy insight, but instead I sift. What's not been rerun to the point of reimagination, is dead boring, washed up and usually resolved to a lie. I want to look through the dirty, crumpled, fragile remains of what I remember has happened the last 29 years of my life. I don't want to remember it all, I want to rediscover it from my current lens of experience.

Distracting myself from the sad state of current affairs, I'm determined to look at my bleak past for reassurance that although shit has hit the fan, the same shit probably won't ever again. Maybe there's some glimmer of hope for my future relationships, some potential to make a living in a career I am passionate about as much as it is passionate about me. I ask for a lot because I give a lot. Fear has found it's way into my life, and it's begun to eat me alive. I'm fighting hard to stay afloat this river of weed, scotch and worry... And although the benefits are enticing, the side effects are toxic. My mind has rot before my body, and for that I'm thankful.