Dreaming toward death

Sometimes, in the midst of depression, my safety devices are writing and my love for my wife.  

I want to be a breath away from fading into the sheets on my bed and into nothing.

Like that movie, A Neverending story, I feel like I’m in the nothing.

Then there’s the knowledge that death is very permanent and only seems like a distant pretty idea. Looks like it might work, looks like an option, but really, it isn’t…not at all…Almost like…communism?

My nails are dragging along the pages and keyboard, if I form them, I will stay, if I type, I am alive, I am here and I will stay.

It’s a sad commentary or the ramblings of a person who has managed chronic depression for 20 years, I have no idea which is more accurate.

It’s a beautiful sunny day – the sun is splitting the rocks, my grandfather would say. It’s 4 celsius but we haven’t seen a beautiful day like this in a long time. It makes my illness that much more, palpable, closer to the surface.

I am here, I am alive and for now, that is enough.

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