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8 Aug

In college, I laid on a grimy basement floor of a badly kept rental house sobbing hysterically for an hour or more. Not a single roommate came to see what was happening. I was in the depths of unhappiness and depression.

At some point, I got up off the floor and got out of depression.

Today, I’m not laying in filth crying for attention but I’m afraid I’m heading down that same dark path.

I’m depressed. I’m struggling with obesity and it seems like I couldn’t save two pennies if my life depended upon it.

I realized a while back that writing helps remove thoughts that otherwise consume me. This isn’t so bad when the thoughts are about daisies and cherub faces. It becomes a compounding problem when you focus on your failures and are unable to see a way out.

I’m clambering to get out of the deep, dark depression. I might be dragging myself along but up has to be better than laying in the swallows at the bottom forefeeling my existence vanishing.