papercut

The symptoms came faster than I could recognize them. Humming one mushy song for two weeks. Eating everything I could lay my hands on. Staring at my phone. Shopping aimlessly. Yes, I am depressed, but I will die before I admit just why I am like this.

However pathetic the reasons are, I take my feelings in stride, going through the motions of being human. I go to work as usual, attend rehearsals as usual, and pretend I don’t feel so helpless inside. It’s the kind of problem I’ve been through before, but as with movies, there is a twist. And I’m dealing with that twist. My Type A personality refuses to believe that twist, hence, I shift from sometimes deliriously happy to incredibly down in the dumps.

This is the third blog entry I’ve made since my last. I self-censored the other two because one was too “emo” for words, and the other sounded like a blind item that my friends could name in five seconds. At present, I don’t want attention. I don’t even want sympathy. I just want my feelings to die – which is hard when lately I still have too much time on my hands. Therefore I’ll just keep myself insanely busy and hope that this madness goes away…or resolves itself in time.