you might think the dogs could lift you up from depression and they might, but sometimes i get so doggone downright it seems i will never get up and out of it, and i fear that it's always there, even in good times, that subterranean level. i believe the blog has always been a way to work with depression, and it's been steadfast and always open to what i bring. now i have to do something else, i have to get up and not sink. i can't drink, and i can't swim, and i can't sink. 

it's an existential mode and some of the gravitational pull is personal history become habitual. can i not do despondency the way i don't do drugs and alcohol and cigarettes? i almost feel nostalgia for those things so easy to let go of when i thought i never could. 

i have someone who believed in me, but do i believe? do i believe the old familiar dark dream?