I am sad.

And the times when I was sad, I used to be able to delve into my books, used to be able to lose myself in them, study frantically, abandon any sadness-inducing thoughts. Why can't I accomplish that anymore?

Depressed. The motif continuously and mercilessly hounds me. There is no point hankering for what will not be yours. Yes, people tend to be stubborn ... egotistical ... proud ... whatever, but it does not suffice for me anymore. I've been living in a dream; a dream of false hopes and of unrealistic delusions. Depressive realism - how depressed people judge more accurately the realism of things compared to people with a positive outlook to life.

Anguish, dismay, despondency, dejection, despair. Smile. I need to do something about it. Happy. I need to get out. Laugh. Hang out with my friends. Rejoice. Meet new people. Blithe.

Or could someone provide me with the much needed panacea?

"I don't know where or when but we'll pass this way again.
In another life, in another place, I'd have held you close ... "

-->Ning Baizura - In Another Life<--

|