The condition is life, but the doctor reminds me of suicide
In the reception, I see the sun is shining, stuck in the window with me.

Before dwelling in the waiting room
I highlighted to my manager that work is just as disorganised as my mind. Writing provides uncertain clarity, and "Despite your unchanging visions, while succeeding habits. You couldn't write a poem?"

No one is as productive as me,  being sick, wondering when I will clean my ****-stained toilet, wondering how long I have been wearing ****-stained underwear.  It takes years of practice, tolerance to get where I am now

Symptoms are managed by isolation and drinking. Isolation and drinking lasts longer than the working week of nine to five. Today I go to half-pay, which means half-price food, as the holes in my shoes grow. The cheap drink can make me more robust than most men. I can last long into the night

And what stopping me from getting out of control is a broken light bulb, until witnessing the sunshine again.