Friday, June 8, 2012

Days trickle by.

I wake to four missed calls from a friend. We're all not doing so well. We pass it on. We let others have it when we're done.

How vague am I being?

And my nights are too heavily sedated. The mirtazapine has become my enemy. My dreams are so long and intricate and vivid; I've grown to hate them. I hate that I can't escape them. I hate when I wake in the morning and feel so groggy. Feel so heavy and movement feels so foreign. I hate when the best idea I have is to close my eyes. Rest my head back down. Return to the fantasy I just left. The other realm. The plane that entraps me.

Right. Well, at least I'm not hungover. There's always that. There is always that.

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