I Think I’m Moving But I Go Nowhere.

I can’t stop the tears today.

I wrote a poem last night, an ode to the last year of my life.

I never write poetry, I suck at poetry, but the words seemed fit only for such a genre.

I tried opening up a little more to my psychologist but it didn’t work. It completely backfired. I fell back into my obsessive habit of appearing under control on the outside and expressing trivial issues I feel would only advocate that appearance of control. There’s no rhyme or reason to why I do this.

The only thing in control here is depression and he’s a bastard of a boss.

Giving up isn’t an option until it is.