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September 8, 2013
Another mild spell. Dysthymia. Without anywhere to go, I retreat into myself.

The room I made in my mind had eight walls. I often sat on the mat right there, dead center. It was a perfect place for meditation, and for listening to the rest of "me." They were quite silent now, my other selves. "I" had assumed dominance less than ten years ago, since everyone else was on the verge of collapsing.

This time, however, I sat with the eastern wall on my back, arms around my knees. I, too, was crumbling. Another "me" had to be born, soon.