[the aftermath]

i discovered that the hardest part of each day, as is the case with most depressives, was simply getting out of bed in the morning. if i could do that much i had a fighting chance. to get through the day, that is. i decided to try to do some writing, hoping it might afford me the same sense of release that it once had, so many years before. but as soon as i sat down at my computer, i froze before the keyboard. i couldn't think of a damn thing to say. no poems, no prose, no words.

i wondered, what do you do with pain so bad it has no redeeming value? it cannot even be alchemised into art, into words, into something you can chalk up to an interesting experience because the pain itself, its intensity, is so great that it has woven itself into your system so deeply that there is no way to objectify it or push it outside or find its beauty within. that is the pain i'm feeling now. it's so bad, it's useless. the only lesson i will ever derive from this pain is how bad pain can be.

July 26, 2005 - 5:08 am