gray cookies

severe elevation | high elevation | moderate elevation | slight elevation | stable | slight depression | moderate depression | deep depression | severe depression || anx: 1, agit: 1


Down, dooby-doo down, down.
Comma, comma, down, dooby-doo down, down.

I am a slave to colorless, cookie-cuttered days.

I've reverted to waking up after noon. I like it that way - for now, at least. I actually prefer to stay in until the time the Hubby comes home from work. It saves me the energy of preparing breakfast and lunch, and spares me the agony of desolation.

And then at night i stay up as long as i can, watching or reading to keep my mind from swirling down into the murky backwaters of my distended consciousness. Just keep things surface, shallow. No delving deeply into Khazad-Dum, no discovering unwanted Balrogs. I stay up until I am definitely exhausted.

Because I just don't want to face another day.

For that matter, there are a lot of thingsssssss I don't want to do anymore.

I don't care about reading.
I don't care about making money.
I don't want to eat.
I don't want to go to sleep.
I don't want to take my meds.
I don't even want to pray.
I don't want to believe in anything.
I don't want to work on anything.
I don't care about any dreams or plans or anything of the sort.
Screw fighting for my life.

I don't see the point since I'll be pishing everything away anyway.

Every day is a bland, gray cookie cut from the boggy dough of what is supposed to be my existence, destined for the compost heap.