Making my way, every day;
Walking the road, bearing the load.
Making it a little, but not all alone;
Starting a life, getting it going.
|
|
| |
|
|
| |
Just a man, pausing in his daily walk to ponder.
|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
Tuesday, January 29, 2002
You know, I'm really beginning to be frustrated with these periodic bouts of depression (periodic in the sense of repeating, over and over again, according to a set time frame, and not meaning every once in a great while). It's just downright silly to have some silly little something drop me off the cliff into a sea of pain and anguish. But about every 10 days or so - lovely thought, that the period between bouts is shrinking now - I just get sent off the deep end. Maybe my friends are right, and I DO need to see someone about this, because I don't know if I can keep on going, always feeling terrible about myself. Of course, on top of this depression thing, I'm severely introverted and a perfectionist, which just makes things all the easier. Either everything is perfect (which still, for some reason is only just good enough), or everything is horrible and I'm a dismal failure. Gee, I'm almost starting to sound bi-polar now. Of course, there is always my theory about me: I'm teetering on the brink, holding just this side of the line that puts me in the nuthouse. And maybe I am just some whacked out nutjob, that needs a good counselor and a prescription for happy pills. But that's the coward's way out - pills, that is. If I can't take it on my own, there has to be someone who can show me the way - if for no other reason than that, if there is no better way, I don't think I want to keep on living the life I'm living. And so, I await my muse, my complement, my other half, and hope against hope that I'll recognize it when I come across it.
12:47 AM
|
|
| |
|
|
|
