2010-04-05 - 1:04 a.m.
Inside me is a quiet song being sung on an empty hill by an old man.
I used to compare myself to Sam. Don't go where I can't follow, Mr. Frodo, loyal, honest, trusting.
I used to be like that. I defined myself by what I did for my friends. That tree is bare now, upon the hill, decayed.
Denethor, now. I stand alone, by my own choice, unable to receive or understand the comfort of any other, unable to believe I can ever fix anything so broken.
What does depression mean when it becomes part of your personality, part of your every-day? What does sadness really mean, when happiness is no longer true?
What can I really give to my family, what can I really teach my child, if there is nothing inside me except a sad, quiet song?
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