I’m Ranting Again

Since I got back from Tokyo it has been difficult to write, well, anything. Every time I sat down, and put pen to paper, I felt like my mind went blank. The reality however, was that there has been more on my mind than I can remember. I had so much on my mind, and more than ever I needed to vocalize it, but I just let it fester instead.

Instead of acknowledging that I’ve started crying when I’m alone I let myself believe that I was just jet lagged. Instead of addressing that every tree, street sign, and passing headlight had started looking like invitations again, I told myself that I was just distracted. Instead of being honest about that nasty little voice that has started whispering again I told myself I was just dreaming.

I wanted so badly to believe that I had moved beyond my previous cycle of sadness that I moved right back to the beginning of it on my own. I held it all in. I deluded myself into thinking I was better, and like every other time I’ve done this, I felt like I was slowly dying.

I wish how I felt followed that age-old pattern of getting worse and then slowly better, but that’s not really the case. So this is me finally being honest again. I’ve fallen into a bad place again, and I don’t know when I’m going to get out of it. This isn’t cry for help, because honestly I’m not saying it for anyone else to hear. I’m saying it for my benefit, because I really can’t afford to lie to myself anymore.

  1. ❤️



  2. I really wish that cycle worked for me, too. It works in the movies. Even in other people’s narratives of their lives. The “old them.” That time they went through this or that. Unfortunately for me and maybe you too, Corwin, our past and present selves are in a constant love affair with one another. No matter how painful it might be, the self always likes to revisit how bad it felt yesterday, 5, 10 years ago. It’s a familiar old feeling. Comforting, even? Maybe in some twisted way it is, like a thick blanket of self loathing that envelops you, numbs you, and encourages this catatonic state to continue longer.

    While I was at the psych ward, people always expected you to get better, feel better. “You’re feeling better, yes?” You almost feel as if you let them down if you say no, in fact, I feel exactly the fucking same. I’m stuck in this, nurse, please help me. But they don’t know how to help you. Eventually I got sick of eating hospital food and “got better” enough to get out of that place.

    Sorry, Corwin. I seem to have made your post about me. Typical. Just know that you’re not alone in how you feel.




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