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The desire to cut, and to suicide, is very strong. I feel profoundly empty, as if I can't find direction or guidance, and at the same time restless, as though there is some place I need to be but I don't know where it is. Everything seems pointless, hollow, and bleak.

Depression. So much weight in one word.

On the other hand, I'm trying to set up the elements of "a life worth living", as we say in DBT: arranging volunteer shifts with Quagga and the Winnipeg Humane Society in the next few weeks, as well as trying to focus on the fact that Hardy Boys work should be coming in soon. All of this, however, seems to pale next to the distress and despair of two simple facts: first, that George seems to have lost his wallet, which did not contain money or credit cards but DID hold his Manitoba Medical card and a few others that will be a pain in the ass to replace; and second, that the cheque for the last Hardy Boys graphic novel I did is quite late, and the rent is due on Wednesday. *tears out clumps of hair*

Lie down, never wake up. Familiar refrain, eh? Right now it's all I want to do.
Date/Time: 2006-02-28 06:01 (UTC)Posted by: [identity profile] eastpath.livejournal.com
I'm there with you. *hugs*

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