Dear Sweet Love

 Dearest Sweet Love,

I never thought I'd be writing this for world consumption but here I am waiting for the moment my body quits rebelling. I fear it'll never happen. 

Every day I hear, calm your tits, and while I think I've grown enough and accomplished the necessary steps to being chill to become my normal Budda self, I'm easily triggered and, on the cycle, continues. 

I wish I could say it was the pain, but my restlessness has more to do with my imagination than it does the way my body surges. I'm used to the zing my brain goes through when I've begun the downward spiral. 

It's my imagination that takes me to that dark place when I feel like I could easily fade into the abyss I'm being dragged into. The, close your eyes and let it be, unravels how easy it would be for my grim to gasp my hand and guide my heart to quit its fighting stance. 

Have you danced with your devil in the pale moonlight? have you accepted what will eventually be but hasn't come to pass? I find that my having to accept such realities is the cause for my anxiety. I know now how little time I have left to do all the things I should have done. I have a list that didn't exist this time last year and it's no easy to hear, you'[re fine, you'll be fine

why else does one create such lists? 

You knew seeing snow would cause me to stir.  I'd cry and feel and spiral. but yet the rest of the list is shit to everyone because it's too difficult or too costly. it's what makes me feel I'm not worthy. It's what makes me feel like moving the mountain was a load of crap. 

My dear sweet love, tell me, what would you do if you knew today was the last chance?

If it didn't stir something in you, then my answer is crystal clear. 

Merry Christmas