The depressed brain says: ‘Whiskey! Marlboro Reds! Oblivion! Can has?’

The rational brain says: ‘No, we can’t go that route. Even though it would be so much easier than bleeding on the knife edge.’

But seriously, today is already a horribly hard day. I came into work, but I’m already regretting that decision. I don’t have the strength to deal with any minor dinks, whether it be my daughter doing ragey toddler things, or my father-in-law’s noisome ways, or who knows what. I’m sure I’ll start screaming at the wind or lack thereof shortly, just because my brain very much wants to be angry and sad and I don’t have the strength to wrangle it in. Part of me is screaming for more meds, as if they could magically and immediately fix my pain. Another part of me is glad that I’ve not had to go the antidepressant route yet. I’m not sure how it could have gone any better at home though. Sure, I wouldn’t have the people-in-my-space problem, but I would have to deal with miserable heat that the A/C may or may not touch at my set distance from it. I’d have to deal with the cats, as I’m sure one would decide that it is mete to be extra-needy. I just no that no matter what choices I make or those around me make today, they’re all going to be wrong. No matter what, everything will be wrong because my brain has decreed it so. All the logic in the world isn’t going to fix that right now; the chemical bath it has produced is too strong.

It hates it, forever. But I’m stuck with it.

I repeat as I always do — that doesn’t mean I’ve given up and given it free reign. If I had, it would be the aforementioned smokes-n-booze scenario of antiquity. And I know that without that less than ideal cushion, the crash is going to be even rougher-seeming (from this vantage) once I lose the last couple of straws holding this bridge up. The inevitability… sucks.