I can't lie. Alright, that's not entirely true. I can lie, as in I am perfectly capable of speaking or writing something which is to my knowledge not true. I have reservations about such untruths, but they are not of such a pathological character that they would actually prevent me from lying when the case is minor and for all intents and purposes marginal in importance.
What I meant to say is that I won't lie. Not that I won't lie at any point ever in the future, mind you, simply that I will not lie in the statement I am about to make.
Maybe that was already clear.
Either way, the last month and a half has been terrible. Life has been one huge embuggerance of absolutely exaggerative proportions.
Such is the beautiful world of depression. It can pretty much be summed up by the notion of a constant fear that you'll be fired because sooner or later you'll be found out as utterly useless.
I have taken to writing, thought clearly not in this blog, but rather a fantasy story. To say that I did so as a form of self-administered therapy would not only be highly inaccurate, but, much more damning, vain. My reason for reason was simply a desire to make up stories of whatever the hell I wanted, with twists, themes and characters that interest me.
In a bout of writer's block, however, I did resort to an attempt at channeling my desperation, frustration and self-contempt into my writing. The results were...interesting, and not very encouraging. I decided to abandon such a writing technique in the future.
To be quite frank, this will have to do. I grow weary for now. We'll see what updates I'll be able to muster in the future.
