Depravity, the Great Equalizer

I was calling it an ineffable sadness, but I heard that it was called "poetic despair."
...Depressive slump works, too.
They descend erratically, the spells, like a staggering drunk, completely unstable and untrustworthy. And completely sickening. If his fix is alcohol, mine apparently is dauntless, zealous, unmitigated self-sabotage. Makes your head swoon and reel. [But it's more fun to participate in the pain than to let it slap you around!]

And then it lifts, remarkably, miraculously, and unreasonably. And I am painfully aware that I am at the mercy of the same cosmic force that governs every single other member of humanity, alike. No different.

"Pain is worn so beautifully on other people."
Oh, if only we were all other people. Then wouldn't we be such glamourouslittlebabydolls.

Poetic despair. It must have been said about other people. I think mine has something to do with my misanthropy. My disgust at Valentine's day, at weapons of mass destruction, at Christians oozing with self-righteousness, and above all else, at this sexual, alcoholic, drug-binging, hedonistic nihilism that neither class, nor location, nor time does escape.

Depravity, The Great Equalizer.