The dark wind of rumination is a binding source of despair. Like constant shame, roto-tilling the same hard ground of regret, casting power to weakness and paralyzing sadness. Where's the TV-remedy for doubt? Where's the late night Billy Maze commercial, offering up a one application only, cure all for mental anguish? Preferably in a topical ointment. Only $19.99.
There's nothing for it. Just work and only work. I little purpose, a dash of empathy, a spoonful of hope, because if left to it's own devices, grief wills out. It takes it's pound of flesh. It's a constant chore, shoring up defenses against pain. Addiction is get rich quick, recovery is a Roth IRA. It may take time to build equity, but in the long run... well yeah, you get it.
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