Fiction Fragment: Black Dog Barking

It’s been, and continues to be, a rough few days. This just came boiling out in my notebook, and it works both as a block break and a semi-autobiographical vent:

The black dog is barking, and it takes him all his concentration not to let that strident sound drown out his sense of self. Its an insistent nag at the seam of his mind, spelling out a narrative of apathy and worthlessness. Conscious examination of the dog’s message brings lucid refutal if the dark course it advocates, but the heart has always been quicker to pick up the attractive lie.

There’s always a quiet time in the day where the depression seeps through and all of a sudden it all makes perfect sense. How easy it would be to just give in, sink beneath the waves and stop fighting. It’s not even a question, but a solid statement of rock solid fact that will drag you down into the eager darkness.

The black dog is definitely barking, but it is also definitely on a leash.

About Tim Maidment

Writer, House Husband, Raconteur and Bon Vivant
This entry was posted in depression, Fiction, letting off steam, mental health, writing and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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