Occasionally the thought that I'm sinking quickly into the mire of depression again, flashes into my head. I certainly match some obscure marker of angst or depression, recognisable only to me. I'm unemployed; that's my catalyst. I exhibit the terrible soul-searching, flaw-picking, low self-esteem, cynicism and aggressiveness of my bleak periods. The aggrandising of self, and the accompanying bitterness that comes after the fall. I alternate between lethargy, disinterest or obsessive fascination with computer games and frantic sprees of feverishly typing CVs and filling in job applications. I sleep very little, or sleep too much. I cry in harsh jagged sobs, I pick fights with the Beau, I buzz all over the place like some wound-up toy careening dangerously for an extremely finite amount of time. And life goes on. Like a huge gaping maw to be filled.
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