Looking back at the last few months, I'm proud of the little fragments I've managed to piece together. I've begun to edit and rewrite a bit and to place some new fragments here and there.
I've written of today and find that what I've written fits quite well with yesterday: my thoughts mirror a past self, my behavior swings back and forth on the same destructive path, my plight still blue. Personally, it's tragic. But it's wonderfully productive. I've made progress, and yet I've made no progress.
I am self-medicating: works by recluses or depressives are best. It's actually working quite well. Something has lifted since I left the world. I'm not as depressed as I pretend to be.
in the middle of a self destruction
new skills available