A misty grey cloud boom

She writes on a golden brown table with the black machine in front of her. In her head, all around her are objects, things, concretes that cannot be seen through. Her hands move with male elegance lacking direction.

The lights around her are meaningless; she gets up to turn them off, but the Matrix turns them back on again anyway. She feels bored. He feels alone. Do they even exist?

Nonsensical questions that torment my mind and make me feel sad never end up sticking around for very long, but when they do, it is a hell without fire or ice.

So they take my spirit, feed her grey matter; kick her out, limping all the way home hoping a friend will come say hello. Instead, an appointment with dentists, optometrists, social workers. But where is the happiness?

The mood stabilization that occurs when the meds kick in drive away all the ecstasies and the dullness settles in.

Being a 24 year old is HARD. But ultimately, it'll get better.

Gabriel(le)