In a Dark Place

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate”

Yeah, yeah… not my usual tone, I know… but what can I say?

“Get the f**k over it!”

You try feeling like absolute shit for 1 year, 1 month, 25 days and 16+ hours and then you tell me if rainbows and sunshine are still shooting out of your ass? I have a feeling they would not be!

I know… bitching, moaning and complaining are not acceptable social behaviours. Because, let’s face it, “Nobody likes a whiner!” People want/need/expect others to display a continued (albeit, usually bogus) attitude of fortitude, sufferance and stoicism. You know, “Stiff upper lip,” and all that. …but sometimes, just sometimes you need to say, “Sod it all,” and allow yourself to be sucked into that cold, dark, gloomy void, that beckons you.

…else how do you know you’re really alive?

If you don’t face and question your reality (whatever it is) and stand toe to toe with your demons, how do you know you’re not already dead, and just going through the motions?

Every once in a while you need to fall (no, you need to jump!) into that unholy, cimmerian shade and bask in the pessimism, negativity and despair that has somehow (in what always seems like an instant) become your freakin life!

So why, why do I insist on sharing my diary of despair and woe with you, I hear you ask? Well… misery does love company! *See disturbing image above* Would you want to be in that place alone? 

And also because you my faithful readers (if there are any of you actually left out there still reading this bullshit), deserve the best and the very worst of me.

My dark side, apparently runs as deep (if not deeper) than my drollery.

Who knew?

If you don’t suffer from a chronic illness (or depression) this, generally unaccepted, state of mind may be difficult (if not impossible) for you to understand. Not because you’re not smart enough or that you don’t have the capacity to understand, but because if you have not walked down this road, in these shoes, with these feet, you have not felt, each and every teeny, tiny pebble, cut deeply into the sole of your foot… leaving you uncomfortably, bloodied and blistered; but unable to stop walking.

And, please, please know, I usually do a damn good job of staying well clear of self-pity and “woe is me,” theatrics; but the straw is getting pretty heavy and the camel’s back is weakening.

After a year plus of fighting two auto-immune diseases, a bad knee (which requires a total joint replacement), neuropathy (numb, cold, tingly, aching, hot, pins and needles feet and calves), dealing with new and mysterious debilitating “viruses” every 4-6 weeks, steroid side effect, steroid withdrawal effects, fatigue and a nonstop general feeing of malaise. Along with the normal effects of ageing, weight gain, fat & muscle redistribution, wrinkles, skin changes, loss of identity, loss of self and loss of purpose…

I should be drowning in this cesspool of desperation, not just treading water!

Yeah, yeah… I know there are lots of people out there who are way worse off than me. Logically, I know this to be true… but, I’m not in their shoes, am I? I’m not feeling their “pebbles.” I’m here, stuck waking on my crappy road; feeling the painful, cutting effects of my pebbles. I can perceive their pain and suffering and I accept that if we were able to weight pain and suffering, that theirs would surely weigh, more, but,

…it’s all relative.

My perception is my reality.

I’m sure this current state of mind is only temporary. I have never been able to sustain a good depression. The “Big Black Dog,” doesn’t hang around me too long, usually. No, just long enough to be fed, scratched and cuddled; then he moves on to a different place. Coincidently, this is usually around the same time, the soles of my feet start to toughen up and heal. Hmmmm?

“I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.” 
~Friedrich Nietzsche

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