Fear and Regrets
My regrets pursue me relentlessly when I am asleep. The school I didn't graduate from, the people I didn't love (or love enough), the children I didn't have. Things I did not say, thoughts I could not express. Apparently, the ammo purse I carry doesn't just carry my grudges against other people; it also carries the things I am holding against myself. I'm starting to wonder if it's not actually an ammo trunk. Whatever it is, sometimes it opens of its own accord, and something is launched to explode in my face. Is the battle metaphor appropriate? I think it might be; depression is a constant struggle against an enemy that can only be glimpsed in the mirror. My psychiatrist tells me to bury my past and stop thinking about…