The Song Remains the Same

It's happening already.

I've been home no more than an hour and my mood is already starting to plummet. I don't know why it is. I don't know what to do with it. Do I really hate it here that much? Is it this place that I call home the core of my depression? Is that even possible?

I walked into my bedroom, dropped my bags on my floor and felt an overwhelming sense of nothingness. It was lonely in there. It was dark and untouched. My clothes were piled neatly upon the freshly made bed, thanks to Mom, and my curtains were drawn shut. I closed the door behind me, took a seat on the edge of my bed and sat, looking around at all the knicknacks that define different chapters of my life, collecting dust. Those things aren't important to me. I hate souvenirs. I hate thoughtless last minute gifts. I have too much stuff, maybe thats why I feel trapped. The rest of my family was sitting in the living room, but I didn't feel much like socializing. My wanting to be alone has left me here, gazing effortlessly at this computer screen. I have no idea where I'm going. I have no idea what I'm doing. This past week was like a siesta from my depression. I left it at home, on my nightstand. I was kind of hoping it'd be gone when I got back. It's not. The song remains the same.

My emotional outlets are overloaded a bit, get a few drinks in me and all of a sudden love doesn't look as bad as I make it out to be. Fast forward to the morning after, tune in to Marissa's Top 100 Reasons Why Love Sucks, the VH1 special with commentary by Mo Rocca. Tune in tomorrow to see a train wreck.

Maybe it's going away to school that will be the cure for everything routine. After 20 years, this place isn't looking so wonderful. Mundane is more like it. And I'm everything but.

But, tonight, it's back to Sex and the City and my electric blanket.

Gon' to rub one out.