Sometimes it comes back…

…sprouting up like little black flowers in the ashes of hell.

Very dramatic I know but heck, I’ve got depression so I’m allowing it.

At the moment things aren’t the best, again. It’s at times like these I wonder how and why I carry on. This week I actually had a job interview, of sorts. It was more a display of fitness knowledge and business acumen in a group of about nine of us. I’ve done these days before and it’s usually, best salesperson wins. This time though, I enjoyed it and got a chance to do some fitness related activity as well as business type stuff. There were six slots and out of nine of us and I thought, ‘Yeh, I should get at least to stage two.’  Cue canned laughter. Fat chance son! Glimmer of hope? Not any more, smash grind stomp! There it goes into the ground gone once more. 

So another one passes on by and I took it badly. Very badly. That coupled with everything else lately left me upset, fed up, frustrated and angry. My inner blood God demanded action, demanded a sacrifice and it got on alright. My former scratching post, my right thigh, took it. Annoyingly it wasn’t enough, the cuts and the lack of blood never going far enough, which made me more frustrated so I cut deeper, deep enough to scar and deep enough for my leg to smart considerably when I was done, the rage finally satiated. Blood wise a pathetic little tear of crimson slowly dribbled down. I couldn’t even do that right. After that I led down staring, thinking everything over, thinking how things would never really settle down, how I’d always feel this way and when I finally had some energy to stumble out of bed I felt awful. My body felt awful and my face felt awful, as if all the life had been sucked from it; it felt saggy and heavy as though it was just hanging from my skull like a melting mask of rubber. Oh dear.