Dancing on the Graves of Me and Mine

Mind you, this is not a post. It’s a meta-post, an index to the story of my grievously curious life with generalised anxiety and major depressive disorder. This lightly commented table of contents may be useful for those who want to read the story end to end. But feel free to do whatever you like with it, of course. Once the story’s out, I’m not really its master anymore. Or slave, for that matter.

Now, without further ado, it went like this. First there was the flurry of my imagined deaths.

Then the chronological unfolding of the story got interrupted by a series of posts on actual premature deaths of people I used to know. The primary intention was trying to puzzle out why I was so obsessed with death in the first place.

After the retrospective diversion, I was back on track with another hypothesis on what might have been killing me for real.

And here goes the sort of dramatic mid-point of my mad story.

Few assorted posts followed, dealing with the price of my keep-on-living decision.

Then my madness came up with a new trick, nastier than anything it had tried before. This particular crisis has, however, led to some pretty useful revelations at last.

Finally, I hope you will be happy to hear that I seem to have prevailed despite the deathly shitstorm raging in my head. And while figuring out how to save myself, I might have also learned a thing that is as profound as it is trivial.

And that’s it. Enjoy if you dare!

The feature image is a reproduction of an unknown painting originally displayed without reference on the MHA Languages Club blog. Posting this low-resolution reproduction here is arguably within the limits of fair use.

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