21 February 2012


 Some days I spend just wilting. This is one of them. Oddly enough, housework helps. Automated motion. It's why I've always felt I'd do well as an assembly line worker. Motion without thought. Like knitting, like driving, like typing once the fingers learn the keys.

Suicide cures depression. Yeah, I know, that's not even a LITTLE bit funny.

I'm always ready to talk to others about it. About theirs, about "it" in the abstract. My own? No, I laugh it off, say "it's not so bad; it's under control."

I need to remember it's a disease. Like fibromyalgia. Like lupus. Like cancer. A cancer of the soul, it eats optimism; random moments of joy shake it awake.

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