So far today, I've felt pretty well. The morning wasn't great, but I got a call from a friend who read my blog and wanted to hear if I was ok, so that cheered me up. When a friend calls, I get a little boost in happiness to know I'm not completely alone. I've distracted and exhausted myself today with superflous stuff to keep Legion at bay. If I'm lucky, the lucid time will stretch into tomorrow, but I'm not holding my breath. I don't expect or try for sanity any more, that would be futile. A little part of me still hopes for happiness, though. Sometimes my melancholy seems invincible; I can't seem to find a way to break it inside me: I need help from someone who understands and can love me anyway.
Those of you familliar with only my writing might think that not unreasonable, but trust me, it is. The disrupting pressure of my depression and my flood of annoying habits tests anyone's patience. There's a scene from "The Simpsons" where Barney makes an independent film chronicling his condition. Several ladies in the audience lament his torment; one says "he has the soul of a poet!" When Barney introduces himself, the same woman turns to him and says "Did something crawl down your throat and die?" That's usually how people react to me. Something did crawl down my throat and die; most call it Youth.