Apology to Myself

There are times when I feel so low as if my life has no purpose at all. It's not even sadness. It's much worse than that. It's absolute hopelessness - the inability to look forward. And gods know when it would end or whether it would end at all. Anyway. When I feel this surge of hopelessness I lose the urge to write, or as a matter of fact, do anything. I just lay in the dark waiting for the moment when my breathing would stop, my brain would go blank and the comforting warmth of final and absolute winter would start creeping through my veins and arteries. It's been a very long time I went to bed and had a dreamless, sound sleep.

Last week has been pretty hectic and quite a painful one - oh what's new about that. I hardly got the time or the will to sit down and write pages. However, I have finished two books and watched three movies in the meantime, so the ideas of new posts are spilling over. Also the Bhutan series is still not finished yet. So yeah, maybe my life is not as purposeless as it seems. No matter how useless the purposes are. All I need is to get my bearings back so that I can turn my denial mode on. Once the false sense of happiness is resurrected, I will be back on track in no time. Until then, let me wallow in self-pity and suicidal depression a little more.

Why is it an apology to myself? Are you freaking kidding me? No one gives a damn about my blog except me. And thank all the gods for that.