I realized late last night that I'm hitting another gully in the cycle of depression and recovery. I have the stories running around in my head, but can't find the enthusiasm to write them down. I want to just lie in bed and cry for hours
I guess I just feel myself slipping away, bit by bit. I'm losing weight, but not fast enough. I'm writing, but my head continues to fill to overmuch. There's a possibility of new romance on the horizon, but am I just fooling myself?
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