Christmas is here again and we are all looking like prize stuffed animals hanging from a carnival game tent, and the bar stewards refuse to use a noose for me!
The turkey diners rapidly increasing sweatpants sales and festive jumpers so bright and borderlining dangerously tacky that health warning pamphlets have papered the nation like unwanted snow
You’d be foolishly eluded to the idea that this time of year is all smiling cherubs in sickeningly green elf costumes haunting every corner of the streets, invading with great prejudice all shopping centres, if it weren’t for the morosely decorating singles garnishing street lights with nooses tied with Christmas tree lights.
To say I was one of them would give me great pleasure but that nagging constant otherwise cursed to be known as ‘sense of self-preservation’ signed a lifetime deal with my suffering a long time ago, a damningly worse legal clause is that my depression can’t pull the trigger unless I give in first!
This seasonal depression has as ever grabbed tight the endless flowing misery streams I know to be life, love and a lack of any deeper satisfaction in living, all in all a rival for that equally torturous trio of stress, anxiety and depression. But enough of my troubles, what about yours?!
Now I will have to end this post here, having bleed from the open wounds of my existence the tainting unhappiness that corrupts my dark humour to a deeper pit of whence where the devil did once scrawl the word ‘human’ I now am able to resume normal operations
So stock up on anti-depressants, vodka and remove family members from the room (bloodshed and murder not recommended unless you plan not to get caught!) and prepare for my…