Gothic Mansion Fog Head

 

I have not been writing that much lately. My head seems full of fogs. Those English countryside fogs as seen in Gothic horror movies. With the spooky old house, the master wearing evening clothes a lot. One of those movies. That kinda fog. Except the monster in the attic seems sound asleep. I just sit in the living room twiddling my thumbs as the master of this Gothic house reads a book on why women lie so much about everything.

I seem to be getting worse as a writer, not better.

So Candy Crush is back up on the other computer I use. I obsessively play it. It numbs me. Matching little candies is the anti-depressant drug of choice for me! I can’t afford a doctor or actual meds. That was brought home to be by my latest royalty spreadsheets.

I think about killing myself about every day. There’s a fancy name for it, when you’re stuck on that suicide edge, but haven’t gone over yet to actual attempts. You’re just stuck in the same spot staring at that wall before you. You haven’t yet picked up a razor blade for real.

Watching this TED talk, by a writer, on depression, he hit on repetition as a way of dealing with the fog in his head. I noted that Patton Oswalt also talks about this in one of his routines. Where his depression tells him to watch the Princess Bride seventeen times in a row. Yes. Yep.

I have that one. Just have the same thing on. Repeat watch it for days on end. Gilmore Girls. I’ve seen the entire series I don’t know how many times now. Buffy the Vampire Slayer, same thing. When the last episode ends, I get panicky. I feel lost, bereft. I might even start the series again. And again after that.

I reread over the above. I cringe. I want to erase it, start all over. That’s my modus operandi for months now. I write something. I cringe. I erase it. I start over. I cringe.

I start over.

I start over.

Maybe I’m finally circling the drain. I should probably call one of those suicide lines. I don’t honestly know what I’d say. Maybe a knock knock joke as I swallow another handful of pills.

Knock knock. Who’s there. Orange. Orange Who? Orange you glad you never have to read one of these posts again?

Yeah.

Yeah, it’s that bad all the time now.