Having forgotten to take my effexor for a couple of days, i began feeling rather depressed. It came as a marvel that I had been surviving so well, because wherever I laid my mind's eye I saw a broken and passionless life. I laid on my bed and cried over a feeling of grief so deep and pervasive it was inspired by anything I thought of. I was breathless at the thought of the world I built with Csilla having been dissolved without notice, the joke it made of the last two years of my life. There was nothing in my depressed mother, in my very few friends, in the empty day through which I had slept, there was nothing to live for. I saw no escape in the paths I have worn wtih use through my tiny terrarium (bedroom to computer, bedroom to kitchen, bedroom to bathroom, nowhere to nowhere). Passionless agony. Silence, aloneness, and meaning hung heavy and spiteful in the empty light, it seemed tangibly to gather up in the corners and wash over my feet when i tried to move, invisible and worthless. If I could but reach in and hold the Meaning, the Purpose, if it was anything but the invisible ether which it was, I felt I could have seen some new path, some new life, but it hung back with Silence and Aloneness and watched me.

I realized I had forgotten to take Effexor and I found the bottle and took a couple. I wrote a poem and found it easy and satisfying like it used to be, and realized this was because it was not creation from nothing, but simply a well said description of what I could see clear as day around me. I was saddened by the fact that I'd rather never write excellent poetry again than be back in the state where it was easy. All I'd have to do is not take my medication, and not take my life.

I am very, very sad.