Spiral slides and giant wheels.

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?

Meh.

Poking fun of David always seems to lighten my mood. Hah.

The current time is actually 11:50:48 p.m.

Adieu.

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