Self Portrait # 200. So here’s the story…

I dont know why there has to be an actual story-but somehow I’ve got the impression that when there is one, sharing it is important Perhaps I am completely misled, and fucking everything up. To be sure, I am sometimes not thinking clearly these days. I blame increasing amounts of pain and pain medication. If you’d rather not know the story-because you have your own, better, more interesting version than mine, please ignore what I have written.

I told a friend this week “I’ve become like one of those those rats that gets tortured with too much electricity and gives up.”

I can no longer see a way out. Day after day, from the minute I open my eyes, to the moment I sleep, I’m in agony. Rinse and repeat.This weekend, while attempting to organize a shelf in my closet- exhaustion set in and was quickly followed by an unexpected wave of despair that physically overpowered me. Will my life always feel so fucking grueling from now,until the time I die, I wondered? Cause if so, this blows and I want no more of it. I just slumped to the floor and laid there for some unknown amount of time, before thinking,  time for a self portrait, right?  Because really, screw it. I  don’t have to make this f*cking pretty. I just have to take the picture.

Click.

 

 

 

 

(Really, any sensible woman in my shoes would her doctor Monday and demand antidepressents immediately-side effects be damned)