There is no right way to deal with darkness, except to look for a sliver of light that escapes through the cracks. But sometimes there is none. In times like these, a short circuit happens, neurons misfire, airways get obstructed, and destruction ensues. Injuries are inflicted, towards the self and outside, and memories get erased, though all the wrong ones.
Things that worked earlier have no effect. The night light gives way to regular ones, the walks become longer, lying down to rest just hides the inability to get up. And just when you think it couldn't get worse, the gloom deepens. Because the part of the brain that thinks too much just informed you there is no reason for it, and the same part can't remember the last time you really laughed.
Not being able to recall moments of joy, or be happy for things accomplished becomes a problem. Doubting that you've ever achieved anything, or believing the pointlessness of it all is a problem. Sleep is dangerous in these times. It's worse than the memory erasure, cuz all that space gets replaced with high def images, and those stay. But it is still worth a try to change these or fill the emptiness with arcane facts, useless bits of data, like it takes 47 minutes at 6 miles an hour to walk twice across Christopher St Pier up to Horatio St, and take a circuitous route to Carmine St. As if that really matters. Because all that resounds for those 47 minutes is You lock the door/ And throw away the key/ There's someone in my head but it's not me. Not Hit Me Baby One More Time. Thank you old man in the sky. Sorry Brit. (Though I imagine it would help from oding on self-pity).
So now it's back to 'Let's waste time/ chasing cars/ around our head'. Talk about this little light of mine hiding inside shadows.
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