It Only Hurts When I Breathe

I'm sitting here listening to BGF snore while The Shawshank Redemption plays on the TV. Gil Bellows just got shot. That sucks.

Which is fitting considering how I feel today. I realized yesterday at work that I am depressed again. It makes me so angry to think of all I've overcome and to still, STILL, feel hopeless and alone. What's funny is that I didn't realize it at first. I think the depression has gotten crafty, grown in its abilities to deceive me. He (I've personified depression as a boy, because, after all, BOYS ARE EVIL.) sneaks up on me in the darkness and whispers in my ear. Calling. Beckoning. Crying for me to join him where the hope is dead and love has been smothered. And I follow. Because I am weak and he knows how to tempt me.

So when I started thinking that it'd be SO AWESOME to be dead instead of alive, I realized that I'm back to the same old mind games. Again and again and again. I'm on a carousel of misery, folks. And it's starting to piss me off.