winged beast

not quite clear exactly how it came about this morning, but suddenly everything is terrible. not where I want to be, or doing what I want to do. just everything. marked pattern of a distortion, and I know that although it feels utterly real, this is an illusion that will pass. keep shaking off the dark thing perched on my shoulders, stretching my back and taking a deep breath, stepping forward foot by foot, only to have it settle its heavy shadow once more. this thing has pursued me the length of conscious memory, with blessed stretches of unblemished sunlit daytimes and mornings and even bright evenings, whole weeks when it seems to have retreated to some moldy stinking grotto, only to return again and again and again.


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0 Replies to “winged beast”

  1. Yes, I get this often – a tiny punishment for feeling happy. It's a rut, and you know what? Once you step in one, keep walking – you can always clean your shoes later.

  2. thanks, you all, for listening and hearing and not being appalled– one of the several downsides of depression, how it can eat you alive entirely, is its tendency to be difficult to mention, a fart at the opera– if only one could laugh at it and clear the air, all is well again.

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