I'm all wrong. Or is it just a bad poem? / 9 June 2015
When depression hits, I can't go out or speak to anyone. It's a moment by moment existence. I have no energy. I want to sleep (but don't). I make myself do basic chores. That's all there is. And food.
This time (today) I decided to write and draw (fuck work) something, attempt to represent or express my state ('mood' it's called nowadays, which sounds OK). I don't smoke and I can't afford to drink alcohol (anyway it's a depressant) though I love the taste.
There's no cure for fear, no remedy for failure and no antidote to stupidity.
Thinking is less of a problem since I learned mindfulness. But the body never forgets and never stops feeling.
For when the numbers don't add up, it's no use lying your way out of the problem. It comes back tenfold (I'm told) and hurts times hundred (that I do know).
So I wrote this poem and made that picture.