The numbness between the great bouts of melancholy relieves me temporarily of the pain and grudge. With a knack to censor my thoughts and words, my true feelings become confused with ambiguity. I don’t even know the wherefores of my pain because I fear the reality of what I will see.

I need companionship; a listener who is unbiased by his or her judgments. I need to know what I have been doing wrong to deserve this. I need the courage to stand up to the undeserved crap. My god has crumbled beneath the pressure. And I am sinking slowly back into the abyss of depression, which I escaped from 4 years ago.

I remember the Logens I have killed and re-awakened from the ashes. But it seems, this time, the ashes are mere ashes; the relic of the depressed teenager who was once teased and taunted.

Please grasp on to my hand (if I even matter to you). I don’t want to fall any further.

Logen