3/15/08

It’s happening again.  I don’t want it to happen again.  I can fight it, but at what cost?  Some awful, Pyrrhic victory of the soul?

I can barely breathe, much less type or think quasi-articulate thoughts.  Man wasn’t meant to feel like this.  Why can’t we always get what we want?  Even now, just like always, I look at these childish supplications and despise the emptiness underneath.  God, I am so unhappy right now.  I have to formulate a plan in a pitch black laboratory with shaking hands.  Man wasn’t meant to feel like this.

Analyze this situation, Mitchy.  What are you doing wrong?  At which point did you and happiness diverge?  I can remember it, now, the euphoria of waking up to the autumn air and feeling okay.  Deep breaths, Mitch, while there’s still air to breathe in your unraveling chrysalis, your splintered coffin, your silken star.  Breathe, breathe, breathe single breaths at a time.  Be helped or help yourself–but fight it.  Common sense.  You don’t want to feel like you did two years ago.  Come on, come on, come on.

Resolutely face these facts and make a decision.  You have to, you desperately need to, if you ever wish to return to equilibrium.