It is the hardest thing, the hardest thing. Standing on the edge of the dark pit and swaying. Only two sweet things stop a final tip into the blackness where it must be such a relief, just to stop and not feel so tired, so worn out and so beaten by stupid things.
The feeling passes but it is always there and while it seems like for every one step forward there are ten dragging backwards the feeling will continue.
At some point things have to get better, at some point nothing will happen, no bad news, no dread of knowing that shadow hangs over, of complete and frustrating helplessness. It is relentless.
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