45 degrees up or down, struggles to climb sometimes succeed, sometimes result in decline, a gradual downhill slide. Like looking in those two opposing mirrors where you see yourself repeated hundreds of times, the weeks go on seemingly endless in front and behind each frame the same fading to nothingness without revealing the smallest hope for change. Mom just called, Dad's in the hospital. I'm 36, and Dad, you've never hugged me or said you loved me, not once, in my life remembered. I always hug your grandkids, tell them I love them.
Good people happen to bad things.
Today is just another day of circling the walls of Troy, shouting insults. There is no hope, I have no future. The promise of Death my only real companion. I withdraw to an inner sanctum. Don't ask why.