Some days will be the ruin of me. Some days life is too hard. The madness presses down so all I smell is the asphalt down on the ground; and nothing I do is right, nothing right enough for the standards set for me by I don't know who, that the madness pokes me with. I might give up if I knew how... there is no way to quit. I can't even get out by suicide — even in death, it's too ingrained in me: the notions of Heaven and of Hell. I'm trapped in my skin, enemy to my own mind. But all of it — all of it may be due waking up so early in the morning. That could be the source of all this anguish. It's a reasonable hypothesis. There is always a logic to it, even to madness.
I don't feel like praying. That's what I normally due in distress. I guess I'll wait it out, see who can outlast who — my subconscious or me. It has its tricks, but I've found out a great deal about it, so far. If nothing else, I will gain fuel to counter it with later. You know, it's difficult to fight a war with something you share a mind with, but it can be done. I'm getting better at it.
Sorry to be so dark, but this is my mind right now. I will get through the worst of this, I think — I have been through worse. I will look back at this one day and be glad to have survived it, but not yet. I will suffer a little for now.
x
8:16am friday, 3rd may
Understanding and examining your unconcious mind is the way to get there. Keep writing through it.
x