The Daylight washes away the Filth over the Sky - and the Ravens cry in the distance.

 (Copyrights belong to me)

The reality slips into dream, and the dreams slip into reality. The world becomes unreal drop by drop and then it pulls back and everything is solid again. 

A ghost, a piece of paper, painted wall and my hand can't get through. It is a stage. Unreal. All the actors are unreal and I am the only audience.

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The therapist said something that surprised me, that depressed often feel like they are living inside a bubble. I didn't know others felt the same. I have often imagined it to be a glass-box rather than a bubble. The first time I felt that way was in my early teens. Of course it is not a constant feeling. It comes and goes. Now a days I have new kinds of feelings about everything, which isn't an improvement.

 (Copyrights belong to me)

Besides struggling with my head and the reality I've been drawing tattoo-pictures. It's a subject I don't want to write about much, until I am ready to share more. Anxieties make the progress slower, so writing about small steps forward is a waste of time. I started by getting acquainted with the machine, and now I am warming up and practicing the style of drawing you need to use to make tattoos. Next step would be practicing with the machine, but as I said, I am moving very slowly, as much as the anxieties let me. Too much, too soon makes me distressed. I don't know why. I guess I feel a pressure to make something of myself. Everyone is making something of themselves. All my plans and dreams have scattered and slipped away, and now I am trying to grasp at anything to give my life a meaning. Without a meaning life is more difficult to bare.

                                                                                                (Copyrights belong to me)