I bid you a good day.

Most of the time I feel slow. Slow of thought and slow in action. Usually I simply refrain from moving, thinking, acting because it exhausts me and takes too much energy out of me to do anything. I feel mired in the muck my life has become and getting somewhere, anywhere is a big struggle.

There are only a few things of me that are unimpeded by the quagmire my life has become. Feelings float around just as they used too, but even they are warped, dirtied by the muck and when they arise they demand immediate attention and swift action. I become nervous and frantic and need to do something to release that pressure but my mind can never keep up. I can't think about a proper course of action so I do anything even when I don't know if it's a good idea. Most of the time I break something or hurt someone and once my mind catches up the depression is there too and I get bogged down again.

I'm not sure if anyone can relate to this, not sure if I express myself properly but that is the crux of my existence, the cross I have to bear. Inaction and unwillingness to do anything, followed by a flurry of crazyness, an outburst of energy and the inevitable wall I hit when I run out of energy only to lapse into an emotional stupor.

Then there are the memories that come to mind unbidden and unwelcomed. A touch, a smell, a phrase, a note … everything can bring something up and there is little I can do to defend against this other than isolating myself utterly from this world. With those memories come associated feelings which remind me of different events in my past, experiences better forgotten, pain suffered and desperation endured and inevitably I fall.

At the bottom of my pit hate resides, hate for myself and others. Hate's brother anger is down there too and so is Rage, fed by anger and hate, chained up in a dark recess of my mind. It hasn't gotten out in a decade but I fear the day it does. I can feel it tugging at it's chains sometimes when my temper flares up and I need to take several breaths to retain control. I barely even get angry these days, mostly out of fear that I'll overshoot by expressing my anger and free rage instead.

But even if I manage to contain anger, hate fills the void in my chest. It is a constant companion, a trusted friend, albeit not a nice one. This friend shows me everything I don't want to see about myself and others. Shows me things I hate, highlights aspects I would rather ignore or pass by. Everything turns bad and worthy of disdain when viewed through the lense of hate and it hurts, hurts to view others like this, hurts to view the world and it's beauty that way because hate also whispers to me, tells me to rid myself of the things it showed me or to destroy what I cannot push away. But with such destruction inevitably comes pain and desperation, two more feelings I'm all to familiar with, because I do not want to hate what's outside my skin, so I turn my perception inwards and look at myself as if through a mirror and hate is there too, gleefully showing me what I hate about myself, what I think others hate about me, what I think others should hate about me … pain rises and desperation sets in not soon after until I'm left incapacitated by anguish. All that is left at that point is the base instincts, my body still moves and goes through the motions of the day but my insides are mucked up and bogged down …

Random memory that came up while writing this:

I once saw a beautiful flower in an otherwise desolate garden. It touched my heart because it was pretty and alone, surrounded by dirt and weeds. Hate wanted me to crush it …