I can feel myself slipping.
And there’s only a small part of me panicking at the mere thought of it.
I think I want to fall; simply sink into my troubles and wallow.
My mind is ablaze with stuff.
I’m worrying and wallowing and gulping for air.
I want to scream and rage and sob.
(Notice how I like things in triplicate.)
The house is quiet. Occasionally I hear the cat running circles in the living room. My brother is already in bed.
I’m sitting cross-legged on the floor with a laundry basket acting as a makeshift table for my laptop.
The TV is off and I have no music playing.
I am essentially trying to force myself to deal with whatever emotions are pulling my heartstrings.
Listless. All I want to do is numb it all. Booze, pills, whatever it takes.
Whatever it is.
I cannot place this. I can only repeat that I feel as if I’m slipping.
I doubt I can fall as far as I once did, but I feel myself losing my tenuous hold on stability, regardless.
And this feeling is enormously unsettling.
Before, during, and after, I always viewed depression as a black hole, relentless in its quest to devour body and soul.
I can almost feel it now, wrapping its inky tendrils around my core.
Perhaps I am being a tad melodramatic. I do have that tendency, especially in my writing, and even moreso when I am trying to describe how I feel.
Ordinary words and typical phrases simply do not do justice to how I feel at times.
Like right now. I really do want to scream and cry. <– Doesn't that sound more than a little bit trite?
Poking fun of David always seems to lighten my mood. Hah.
The current time is actually 11:50:48 p.m.