Remember, a dead fish can flow downstream, but it takes a live one to swim upstream.
The War of the Worlds inside my mind. Anxiety and Depression on one side, Seizures and Epilepsy, on the other. Like a nation, in the midst of battle, participants languish there, while politicians ponder the narratives.
An excuse to gloss over the acts of war. Inside my brain, little battles rapidly coalesce . The net effect being like a lost street, now overgrown. Confusion, malaise and the lost synapses, brooding in contempt for each other.
Between anti-convulsants and pills for depression, my anxiety, like a bastard knife , penetrates my thoughts. The anxiety causes depression and I float along, until a seizure or the waves of confusion awaken to the thrust of reality, into the middle of a battle. A place, I cannot identify.
Stars are no good, for navigation. They mix like a cup of Alphabet soap. In there somewhere, I am. Groggily picking my way. Upstream or down, I cannot tell. On this planet, I dwell wearily.