directions - to the folds of october's warm diaphragm

If you're crying from stagnancy put your left and right arms around you until both hands touch each other. this high pressure hold, might induce some sleepy feelings, but I promise you'll feel cocooned, and to see red close your eyes immediately.

I've been crying from stagnancy (and from loss), and i've been going to therapy intending only to sit on the comfy couch and listen to someone else's thoughts of myself. I'm eloping with hard times, in the dark the bags under my eyes come out of hiding and my stench from only washing every three days pollutes the atmosphere, and when I wake up in the light I have to tuck all of the stray hairs behind my ears and practice a few sentences that like head nods will secure in others that I'm okay and they don't have to ask me what's wrong.

Sadness doesn't quite describe it, depression to me is the reminder that this terrible push into the grey area is because of some fault lines--shaped like a grave-- in my brain paths, and after it's demise some weeks later i'll begin to feel it again. Whats making it worse is the absence of friends, and tapping my foot to sad songs more than optimistic indie--pretty sure there is an exact playlist of this on spotify--tunes.


 And to all the people I'm emailing and trying to stay in contact with my sadness is whining, because simultaneously they are also depressed, and tired of the bus jolting coffee everywhere, and skipping every song they spent hours curating to make a good aesthetic playlist. They too haven't been sleeping much, chew pills instead of swallowing them, and eat some crackers at half past 2 to shut up their complaining stomach.

Pronouns are also a source of 'things aren't gonna look up.' Not 100% gender but I mean the kind of pronouns you use because you can't name anything specific, because your memory has failed you, and nobody is texting you back, and the people you are talking to exist only as a figment in their blog followers minds. am i making you cry yet, see: the first paragraph.

I should not want to stab my brain, but alas it's the process of revision, grey hair and auburn oak trees,
cbnl

p.s. do I deserve a private life?--sometimes I ask myself this--I'm working on something of 'evidence' of this.