I’m stuck in a bad place. I have vivid thoughts of hatred permeating my every action. Sulking, head down, loping along like a diseased animal, I pathetically wait for death. My courage is frail and my will to survive is all but whisked away like so much unwanted dust. Trying to combat, I vary approaches to tasks, introduce new elements but to no real avail. I still stagnate. Hating myself. HATING. I’m lost in dread, obscured by pain. I’m driven to write, only that there be some break in the monotony of feelings overloading me. There is nothing to hold on to. So I fall.