There comes a point where even the most cynical, depressed and pessimistic of us become tired of looking at ourselves in the mirror. More so when it has become all you can express in yourself. When you have nothing good to say and if you're trying your best not to lash out at a world so filled with an unusual amount of problem, there really isn't much to say after that.

So what do you say when the only outlet you have becomes the center of your own tired melancholy?

It's not like ranting the same things over and over again makes any difference. It's not like anyone is listening nor are they offering to distract you from your own problems. Is it so hard to believe that I get worse because I don't have anyone else but Mel to talk to and my blog to rant at? No one was built for this kind of isolation or at least no one could stay emotionally functional with this level of solitude.

Yet the days still remain the same. Conversations happen not because it's wanting, but because something is needed. Friendships are made not out of the company of peers but the usefulness of the moment. Whatever good there was in the world, it isn't enough to redefine it to the way most people know it. So I live in perpetual darkness, hating that very existence, yet simultaneously putting it to good use, not for what's wanted, but for what is responsible.

Maybe there is nothing good to talk about because there is nothing good that can be seen from it. Just the endless road filled with mines you thread around. Could you hate a life that you've learned to be so dependent on?

It certainly feels that way right now.