Needle In Panic Park

I respect the doctor/patient confidentiality pact enough not to get too specific here, but this morning's session with my therapist revealed something to me that I've known, but have yet to fully accept or even acknowledge.

I'm going through a depressive stage.

There are many reasons for this, which I won't go into, but it helps to explain my recent inability to write anything decent or extensive. I stare at the screen, my hands numb, and nothing, n-o-t-h-i-n-g comes, at least nothing worth spending a couple of hours composing. I read the headlines, scan the horror and sadness, and remain frozen. I have trouble going into public lately; anxiety floods my body and brain while standing in line at the store, and soon the whole scene becomes something like this --



Or this --



And since it's not drug-induced, I have no idea when the crazed images will stop, or if they'll stop. The Fear grabs me and throws me to the ground. It's Shock Corridor time -- everything is lunacy and violent death. Sleep is no escape, as this bullshit seeps into my unconscious and turns my dreamscape into a killing ground.

But I've been here before, and can navigate through most of it. So, please excuse me for a couple of days while I try to find some emotional balance and recharge myself for the next phase, whatever the fuck that will be. For now, I'm going outside on my porch and watch the clouds drift by on this beautiful day. Hopefully, the weather is nice wherever you happen to be.