It’s what we thought was double depression actually being bipolar disorder.
Fuck.
In this round of nihilistic bullshit we call a major depressive episode inside rapid cycling I just don’t have sounds to paint its… fucking nothingness.
Sure, there are those worse off than I out there chugging along making their life a positive impact on the world at large. But guess what… I don’t care. Ha. I don’t. I just sit in a 1000 yard stare at the void that is existence. Over and over like a cd with a deep scratch it repeats… who cares who care who cares who cares… fucking certainly not I. I once stood in my garage in a house I was renting on this hill, and watched whilst sipping a beer from a bottle as one of my sweet older neighbors was wheeled out in a black bag because she just couldn’t care anymore, she just couldn’t fight anymore, she wanted out, she wanted to stop feeling so hopeless so lost so alone so scared so tired so heavy so void so… she just gave herself permission to leave her existence. Pretty brave if you ask me.
Fuck.
The only root holding me to this earth is my kid. One strong healthy tap root that I grew inside me for nine months is the only thing that anchors my hands from grasping the non-existence I crave.
Fuck.
There is a literal physical pull a the top of my chest, near the base of my throat, that I want to desperately give into. I stare at it too. Just staring. Not caring. No thinking. Only feeling it. What can I do? This is just a cycle. Who I am. What I have to deal with. Just fucking deal with it you lazy weak spoiled ass American. Just de...
Fuck.
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