1:12 AM EST

I've used up all my votes for the first time in a month or two. I’ve only left the house once in the last three days, and that was to pick up a pizza and drop off a trunk full of overdue library books. It would be bad for me to become a hermit again, but I’ve needed this time away from people, from my life, from what’s going on. I’ve needed to recharge my batteries and work through this. I’ve figured some things out, I think, or I might be wrong yet again.

I used to tell myself that I would never take Prozac because it would stifle my creativity, suck out the emotional energy that I needed to be an artist. But life’s done that for me. I haven’t written a decent poem in perhaps two years, and I struggle to read anything worthwhile or challenging.

It would take a month’s worth of daylogs I never wrote to explain how I’ve gotten to this point, and there may a month’s worth unwritten ahead. I may write about it here, I may not. I might ask for help and call in the big guns, or I might now. Part of me feels that there’s nobody capable of handling this but me, and another part which feels like I’ve handled it very well so far.

The world breaks everyone. I worry that it might have broken me. I worry what I would do when called upon to handle something truly emotionally unimaginable to me. My neighbor died a week ago. He was a World War II naval veteran. His wife now lives alone in an empty house. If I’m like this now, how can I possibly cope with something like that? My father is not that much younger. What will i do when he dies? Thousands of people are coping with something which is like nothing I’ve ever had to deal with. They survive, somehow, someway I will never understand. And poor Adam, whom I unfortunately never met but I’ve thought a lot about lately, and about the times in the past where I thought I was in the sad place he was.

I’m not depressed like I was then, I’m just weary. No matter what happens, I never seem to have grown a callous. I just retreat, and just when I thought I’d gotten everything together and it was all perfect, it all falls apart again.

And in the end, I’m selfish, egotistical, thinking about how this affects me, my life, my future, and it doesn’t have anything to do with me at all, no matter what I do. But when I see beautiful and innocent and joyful things destroyed by the cruelty and callousness of life, a part of me dies and it becomes harder and harder to understand why I should bother.

I’m sorry, I just had to get a few things off my chest, regardless of how much of a whiny freak it makes me sound. Maybe I’ll explain it all, maybe I won’t, but don’t worry, like I told a friend, it’s not bad, it’s just complicated. I’ll figure it out somehow, and pick up the pieces when I fuck it all to hell.