Hell freezes over
Come think about it, it’s about that time of the year to spring-clean my friends list again, much like how I delete people off my Friendster once every so often.
Some individuals are just detrimental to my sanity and my health. Some just stay friendly to leach off me one way or another. Some are just… non-friends masquerading as friends.
But I think I might be too weary to actually be arsed to do anything about everything. Not that I’ve actually been actively catching up with anyone recently, friends or otherwise, been getting increasingly anti-social of late, which is in direct contrast to the festive season occuring right now, but what the hell, I’ve been feeling too exhausted to deal with anything other than dragging myself out of bed of late.
So, well… just so you know, yeah, I know, I’m just not motivated enough to be a potty-mouthed smarty-pants. Or blatantly bitchy, depending on who you are. Yes, go ahead, be a prat if it makes you feel much better, I shall leave you in relative peace.
And if anyone really wants to know, depression feels like… hurt. A constant, nagging, throbbing hurt, just to live that extra minute. Hence the lethargy – apparently just pretending to be sane is a task requiring Herculean effort, so hell no, don’t tell me it’s just a phase, not when it hurts a bitch just to stay in touch with reality.
When it hurts all the time nothing really matters anymore, and once again it’s just… cold, in this big black void.
There’s no secret garden, really, just an uninviting hell of the endothermic variety.
