may i cut in?

well, well, well...here we are again.

depression, my old friend. the constant and steady unwanted compadre that follows me throughout happiness and revels in my despair.

why are you such a bitch?

everytime i get just a bit out of your reach, you catch on to my coattails and manage to pull me back safely into your arms. you howl in pain when i find happiness, and seem fulfilled and glowing when i end up weeping in your arms.

your black velvet skin (i hate velvet) is wet with what seems like an endless supply of tears...every time i run out, you rush to refill the reservoir, like my sad sad soul is a brita filter that you use to filter out the good thoughts like the lead in my LA public water.

and, of course, you seem to become a more complex mistress everytime we are re-introduced. what's this now? social anxiety? bitterness? isolation? well, pile it on, lady, we're having a pity party, and no one is invited. you're a mean mean bouncer at the club of my heartache.

and i am putty in your hands

you tell me to push away the things and people who could help me.
and i do.

you tell me to sit alone and avoid human contact.
and i do.

you tell me to be angry...but not too angry because then no one will love me...
and i do.

you tell me to believe you when you say i will never be ok again.
and i do.

i believe all of it. the loneliness, the isolation, the anger, the sadness - oh, the deep, deep sadness - all of it adding up to another dance with the lady in black.

and this time, i don't feel like fighting it.