Dark corners and crafts.

[Trigger warning. I reference self-harm. It might be disturbing.] I have a vague headache and I’m deciding between marijuana and ibuprofen. The numbed-out life has an appeal. I didn’t eat breakfast until about eleven. Definitely headache-contributing behaviour. I wasn’t hungry. I’m never hungry these days. That doesn’t stop me from rage eating compulsively every now …

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The depths of despair and sukhasana.

I’m having a very bad day. I’m hearing that in Lisa Simpson’s voice and the humour is a nice relief from the intermittent crying over the futility and pointlessness of my life. I’m bored by my despair and its persistence. Welcome back, yoga. I’m doing my practice wrong, of course. Depression prevents sustained attention so …

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Apathy and burglaries.

It’s not that I’m not writing. It’s that I hate everything I write. No matter where I start, the efforts turn into whiny, self-indulgent, depressed meanderings sweetened with a touch of nihilism. It may be what I feel but it’s also boring. Luckily, I have a new emotion: rage. My parents’ home was broken into …

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