Fool's Tower

Fool is afraid of the Tower, collapsing on his head. Afraid of being buried alive by its weight. Just as I am.

I don't know how much time is left me to cope. I don't know how long it takes till the beast rears its ugly head attempting to bite.

The only thing I know, is that I have been broken before, but never to an extent of falling apart.

Clinical depression is tough. And it's not getting better in time. It becomes vicious, chronic, manic. It comes to the point when all you can see is darkness. All you can do is battle monsters inside your head, and those aren't getting weaker. You kind of get Anne Rice who wrote her vampires in the depth of despair and depression. You get the dementors, oh now you do, cause they haunt you.

What it's like, living it? It's like being chained up in a crypt beneath a cathedral falling apart. You can hear the stones weeping and creaking above, you can feel the windows give in to the storm raging inside. You can hear the bones calling out. But you're chained, so there's no bloody point in putting up defences. You just watch.

You ache everywhere, you don't feel yourself alive.

That's what it's like. Agony. Wishing the suicidal thoughts would never come. Cause if they do, you're done with. That's when depression turns into a maelstrom. That's when your fears chant in your head. That's when the Tower collapses, burying the Fool for good.

That's what it's like. Someday I'll lose.