Melancholia

It’s 11 am and I’m sitting on the floor in my bathroom writing this. I’m high again.

It’s raining hard outside; I can hear it through the window.

Feelings signal to my body to stop moving and stop trying. They tell the rest of me that we aren’t able or interested in doing anything anymore – leaving me aching for energy and passion.

Numbing works (for a little bit). Just for the next few hours, while I’m high and content and forgiving myself (forgiving myself for having a brain that does more harm than good).