dekka7

I can't escape this intermittent sense of misery that borders on despair, injecting my mood at the moment.
I miss my Brother very much right now and his physical absense is boring holes in my soul like large calibre bullet wounds.

I am, in many respect, a very lucky man - I know that. I have an intelligent talented and gorgeous Wife who (God knows why) loves me very much. I have a (shit) job that nonetheless pays decently enough. I live in a quiet nieghbourhood with my own car. I have many good friends and am generally liked and respected. I feel I'm good company and a great shoulder to cry on. Am just shit bastard auwful at dealing with myself and his neurosis. I eat and drink well - too bloody well which is why I'm so fat! Not so much with the drinking these days - since I now drive every day, but you know what I mean. And I'm nearly always immaculately dressed. . .

So why, then, am I plagued constantly by melancholy self-doubt and fear that whenever there's joy and/or harmony in my life that something unforeseen and terrible's going to rip the rug from under me?
There is a darkness in me that, inspite of all this above described wealth, longs to be in the cold soggy ground with MIke.