Last June 19, Friday, weeks after dark clouds hovered above me again, I felt tired of those clouds and focused more on the glimpses of hope (as an old friend would call it). A few people actually helped me focus those glimpses through good food and warm conversation, and I truly appreciate them. And believe me: even if I’m silent and in the dark sometimes, I still appreciate even the simplest act of kindness.
After a good weekend (particularly for my mental health), this afternoon happened. I had a productive day, but then I remembered one thing that started the most recent crisis, and something in me snapped. I also remember the goals I want to achieve a week after my birthday (and the mission I have to do to achieve that), but then again, will it even undo the crisis? It’s uncertain, and somehow my blood is boiling because of it.
Fuck this. I need an affogato tonight.
Header image: Janko Ferlic of Pexels. Edited in Adobe Photoshop 2026.
The Diary of The Deranged Writer 