writing by the light of burning bridges…

I am as calm and mellow and laid back a human being as they come, but I give up. Sometimes you just gotta say “Fuck it, nothing’s worth this,” and light the match. 

I hurt. Rather a lot, actually. The antidepressants don’t actually interfere with that, which is interesting. If somebody rips off your emotional scabs, they still bleed. (It is more difficult to cry, interestingly enough. Takes awhile to get there, and calm comes in quicker, and settles harder. It is a grey, sullen calm, but still, I am forced to be grateful for it.) 

My hope is that all that seratonin sloshing around will mean that I recover from this with much greater speed. It does not seem like an unreasonable hope.

No, no details will be forthcoming. Too much drama, too much ugliness. I don’t know why I’m writing this, except that every time I write about pain, somebody e-mails me to say that they’re going through it too and reading about it helps a little. So.The bridge has burned. Here is my effort to toast a marshmallow in the embers.

This, too, shall pass.

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