Wednesday, August 24, 2011

She wakes up lonely... (prose)

Depression.   Hard and fast and unrelenting.  Sometimes triggered by one thing or another, or an accumulation of certain things, sometimes there is no one real reason.  Triggers can be any number of things, though are usually self-inflicted self-doubts. 

Friends and loved ones can see it through frayed nerve endings that are exposed in quick tempers and emotional outbursts that are undeserved and at the same time, uncontrolled.

Not an "I want to die" kind of feeling, or even "I wish I could/would/should die".  More of a desire to crawl into a hole for the next twelve days.

Sleep either comes too often too soon, or not at all.  Appetite uncontrollable, or non-existent. 


Trying to find meaning in certain things that may not have a meaning or a reason or a purpose.  Refusing to properly punctuate my sentences forcing them into eye-bleed run-on's simply because that is how my mind is currently working.  Desire to consume vast amounts of chocolate, lay in a tub of ice, sink into sweet oblivion for only a short while. 

I could be writing in metaphors.  I could be speaking the truth.  .

My truths. 

Lack of motivation for anything, but still able to go about the motions, no one really being any wiser.  No one other than those who knew me when, or know me now, well enough to see my fragile splintered self for who I really am.

Lather.  Rinse.  Repeat.

Fall asleep empty, wake much the same.  New dawn, sore and bleeding crimson and orange. 

I am not who I define myself as, I know there is so much more.

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