The pain is so bright and unceasing that I’m on constant alert.  It’s like being stabbed repeatedly in slow motion.  What a God-awful sensation.  I had no idea that people live like this everyday.

How do they manage to drag themselves to work without dissolving?  Is it possible to interact with others without bursting into tears at the slightest provocation?  I’m assured it’s relatively easy, once the Prozac kicks in.  Oh, joy.  Moving out of a 40 year bio-active paralysis, only to re-enter a pharmaceutical one.  I think I’ll stick with the pain.

At least it’s real.  This emotional disembowelment is better than living in a drug-induced coma and watching the same thing take place.  The pain is there regardless; you’re just too stoned to care. 

I’ve already been down that road.  It only appears to be the path of least resistance.  Sure, you can sail through life unattached to emotional fluctuation, but there is a bill to be paid for it.  If you leave it unpaid until the very end, the interest and penalties will kill you before the myocardial infarction does.

Heart attack . . . interesting pairing of words, don’t you think?  The layman assumes that his heart simply stops working, that he has been betrayed and attacked by his own viscera.   Never does he think that it’s a slow disease process to which he actively contributes.   The cardiac muscle weakens and fails because he has, through his choices, cut off the very thing the heart needs to survive.  Whom has really attacked whom?

If you don’t value yourself as a complete human, it’s easy to shelve the pain, to laze about, disregarding the fundamental needs of the body and soul and then cry unfair when it breaks down and strands you along the side of the road.  You think AAA will send a wrecker to tow your mangled heap back to town?  I doubt it.  If you’re lucky, you can crawl back, grateful to be alive.



  1. amen. a-fucking-men.

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