It's fucking cold out today. We have about six inches of crusty snow on the ground. Normally I would be thrilled as I could take my snowmobile out. But these day, I just don't care. I will probably have to sell it soon anyways.
I remember writing about mourning the loss of my depression because it seemed to diminish my creative energy. I mourn no more. I am feeling overwhelmed with hopelessness. This morning I was actually comparing myself to Gollum. I would be happy to be free of my Precious if I knew what it was. Most don't know the depths of my melancholy. When one causes his own hardship, I think it is more difficult to bear. I constantly berate myself for my past decisions. I think that for most, anxiety moves one to resolution of the issues that create the angst. For whatever reason, I seem to be moved to avoidance allowing small problems to grow like saplings into towering oaks.
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