No words. Just music.

K. I lied about the words. I'm full of them.

I hurt physically. I'm swirling inside with the maelstrom of things that must be accomplished, things that are happening, and so many feelings... It's as though there's so much that a grey fog has descended upon it all, obscuring it with a thick cloud of apathy.

The to do list fights to make it through the thick brick wall of uncaring, unfeeling nothingness...

I am laying (lying?) on my bed, listening to the full We Are Not Alone album. It's comforting, somehow, these songs that I know so well... songs that lulled me through so many days and nights of depression as a teenager... songs that lull me through this funk even now. Dare I call it depression? Maybe. Maybe I'm just overwhelmed.

Whatever it is... I don't feel good. I'm hurting and want to take a pain killer, but I'm afraid that I don't hurt enough to justify taking one, and that it's just 'cause I feel out of sorts and want to feel better. I don't want to be a junkie. But I don't want to hurt, either. I fight this battle with myself every time I come due for a pain killer. It's dumb... but it's constant warfare in my mind over whether I hurt enough, whether I'm sick enough, or whether I could just tough it out for a while longer.

Of course I can tough it out. I proved that last week. That doesn't mean that I ought to, or that I have to.

But still... when is enough enough?

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