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Memoir of Depression

Updated: Oct 25, 2022

I’m not a sad person even though I’m soaking in my self-loathing. I’m not addicted to the women, the sex, or anything that comes with it. I’m addicted to this endless streak of protection I need to give. The lessons they can’t learn. The ones I keep projecting upon them. Fuck if I know how to change that. Double fuck if I even want to. It’s not that I can’t write sitting here staring at a wall of writer's block. I just have to be okay, okay with disappearing into this thorny tornado of darkness. Flying with the crows looking at the bodies and stories I’ve laid behind me from the sky, it gives you a new perspective. It’s a perspective of not the things you could change. Not the things you fear and loath. It’s the ability to see the shiny flick of silver as you pass overhead. You can see all of the moments of joy, happiness, and things that can change your future endeavors for the positive. Those glimpses are what sets me apart from my old self. They set me far away from the person I could be. It allows the man in the mirror to look back and nod his head without a word spoken.

The new tracks I’m set on every time I see something that could have dwindled me down to debauchery doused in my minute waves of recollection, they’re what set me apart. That’s what takes the cold gun barrel out of my mouth. That and my dog. That son of a bitch has been the only to stick through this long. Partially because he has to, and partially because his love for me is something I desire to have for another at some point in my life. In the road that is lain down in front of me, I can see many forks. Turns I shouldn’t take, and high roads that will be swept low. Those are the ones I wish to look back on. One day me my dog and hopeful another lonely soul who decided to stick it out with us to whatever end we may find. Until then I get up every day and take a fucking bat to the constant thoughts of suicide in happy situations, and a bomb to the ones in sad. I take a deep breath and another look at a situation so I don’t flip the switch and display what bipolar looks like. I wake up and take myself out with my dog so the voices can’t hold any weight or tell me what to do. I take all these precautions, no pills, and a notebook with me every day. It’s okay when people don’t get what I’m saying and I get what they do. I have walked as many miles in other's shoes hoping they’d never walk any in mine. I’ve made up stories to be more believable than what happened and still been accused of it not being true. That’s okay. A Lot of people will get it. A lot won't. Different wavelengths doesn’t mean you’re ahead or behind, higher or lower. It just means you’re not in sync. So I’m not in sync with anybody so it seems. That’s why I have my dog. I’m low frequency with high-frequency side effects looking at the world upside down. Since nobody gets my references or my jokes I’ll stop now. That’s why I have my dog I guess. Oh look, a flake of silver.

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