A long time ago, I wrote an essay by that title but I can’t find it. It was a tough one, raw. My counselor used it as a teaching method of why patients need pain management more than they (the doctors) will ever understand. And that not every patient needing pain management is a druggy looking for a fix.
I need to poke around and find it.
Anyway, yeah, I’m there again. Deep in the pit of depression. It’s ugly here. Dank, dark. And green. Not the healthy green of Gaia but the moldy green of trolls. Not much of a breeze but no smells hang in the air. I’m so visually oriented that the lack of smells is not unusual. I’ve had P!nk blasting all day but I’ve listened to just a bit of it. No singing along, either. Now that’s unusual.
It’s been a while since I’ve been here and not much has changed.
Don’t worry about me, though. Like I said, I’ve been here before. The sides aren’t as tall as they had been in the past. And there’s more windows so that’s good, right? I just need to waller here a while, roll around in the muck to prove I am unworthy of just about anything good. Then I’ll climb out someday, shower, sleep for about fifteen hours, and start recovery.
And no, I don’t want company. Place is too small for my fat body so yours won’t fit either.
Some of you (going on the assumption anyone still reads this site) may wonder why I would share the above. And I ask you in return: why not? By sharing, revealing a personal part of me, perhaps somebody will read it and realize she/he is not alone. That someone else feels kinda sorta like that do and that someone understands. It’s like that starfish story. “It matters to this one.”