I have felt terrible lately, depression? Maybe. The only word that I feel desribes it best is wretchedness. I feel... sick, blighted.
I see the average person mowing their lawn, working under the light of the sun and feel instant respect for them, respectable only in shadow of my own failings and from my own eyes. Yes, these very same failings that demand, no, control every single hour of my life. Even more so, this wrectchedness is all I hold lucid enough to bring me motivation within my current shrouded state, it is not much, but enough for small things such as this diary-of-sorts.
Though the crunch of it all, the sheer vice grip of pain is this prison of inaction, logic versus routine, apathy versus passion. This problem most likely is due to my unregular mental state and I dare say 'blight' of what is known as 'Aspergers Syndrome', the claws of which when combined with other things very neatly hold my decision making abilites in a bind.
Can you imagine it? Maybe you yourself hold similar experiences with me. The absolute loss of control, of choice outside the well known and familiar, throughtout it all the continuous pressure and true 'want'... of action. It is with no exaggerating, torture.
Finally, of what can be considered a great irony and some kind of compliment to my sufferering is that I know how to escape, I know the methods the chances, the possibilties and planned routes to quite simply I know to be life. The pain? I cannot even begin to walk this path! My own salvation and hope is tauntingly laid out before me bar no detail... and I cannot even muster the will to focus on it.
*sigh* In the end, all I can do is attempt my petty deviations... to plan outings to the garden months in advance, to beg of outside influence to save me, I wait, with the painful knowledge of realisation together with the torment of a cage made barbed due to my own hope.
!!