the black dog (I'm not a churchill fan but you know...)

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.. is back with me, not at his worst, but he is there leading my mind down a not such a good sidestreet where I just want the relief of weeping, .. weeping over it all, ... everything that is going on. The end of something that has defined me for 25 years, (although that's a happy loss), my poor health/dizziness, the withdrawal, .. mostly whats going on with T and that she won't take it on/is in an impossible position. 

 That feeling of wanting to run away is with me. I am still at least able to know that something exciting is around the corner, .. but the dog is clever, really clever ... and gives that face: that too is shit. I know it isn't, but that's what the dog would have me believe anyway. The trouble really is he never actually goes away permanently. In the dark, purposelessness of it all, there he is, every time .. 

I think really he has always been with me, holding me back making me feel in pain all my life. At last a few tears slip out and a sense of catharsis comes. Was there really ever a time I was free of him? Sometimes I suppose- I forgot about him, I was happy, giddy, drunk or in bliss, and then suddenly he appears and bites me on the ass .. for the fact he was forgotten for a moment, so now I weep, I weep for everything, but it's still just not enough 

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