After another day of being stuck in my own sticking black pit of sadness, I have admitted defeat and upped my meds again. Now is not the right time to be a hero.
The artists will have to go on their way without me.
Comatose v caring? Comatose wins. By a country mile.
Unfeeling v fear? Take a wild guess.
Sertraline-induced-something-like-serenity v self hatred? No prizes here.
This stuff is sticking and clinging to me so tight that it takes more effort to struggle free than I’ve got. As I sink deeper, I’m trying to keep it out of my eyes as it’s hard enough to see a way forward as it is.
I have friends, family, therapy, happy pills, self help, books, what the fuck else can I do?
What do I have to do to want to be here?
I hate it.
I want to go home.