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
No comments:
Post a Comment