Every year, on the month of the dreaded day that I entered the world, ever since I initially turned 25 (yes I have unending 25th birthdays that will continue as such into the foresable future) I systematically spiral into a state of depression.
And as if on cue, today, the 1st of this inevitable month, I dread the ides of March as Cesar should have. This is the month all the voices within my head fight for center stage. This is the month that old won victories over cigarettes, booze and weed demand a rematch with my wits. This is the month I close myself off to the world, and open myself up to doubt, self loathing and self defeat.
It’s just the first day of the thirty one days that I will beat myself up, just approaching dusk and I’m already exhausted from the mental turmoil that’s taken control over me. I’ve got 30 more days of this.
Day one of self depreciation – tick.