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Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Beast They Call Depression

26th November 2012
Dear Cassi,

What is this beast they call depression that makes so many simple things a trial? Even as I sit here I grapple with this apparition fighting to keep my eyes open and my head up. It feels as if I carry bags of sand with me wherever I go.
        
Today again I exposed carpet in my bed room and the bottom of the sink in the kitchen. How many times before have I done this, and how many times will I again spend a day of my life to accomplish this small act of civility.
       
Pickles is content to live among the dirt and insects, but the drain on me has become so hard to labor under. I feel as if I stand against the world even when I know the world looks on in indifference.
       
I would like to think that this world of clutter and dirt is the product of
some false self, some daemon to expel from my flesh. Then I need ask myself, what are the daemons of the mind? Are they any more than our memories haunting and howling in the nether twixt our ears?       
       
Daemon is then just a name I have given a part of myself that stands against my well being. As the much in our arteries needs to be worn away and the fat of my gut to be worked off so does this daemon needs righting.

Keep your head clear, little sister,


Richard Leland Neal



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