Over and over

A recurring cycle no doubt this one of depression. Somehow, I can take the physical fatigue from watching a play, visiting Straford upon Avon and welcoming the year of the horse in one go. What made it harder is the emotional anguish of being not that good, of being socially  inept and hanging on to the last vestiges of a love that is supposed to be given up. Sadness engulfs me whenever I see that face. I feel powerless. I say no more tears but my ducts do not abide. I shall try again tomorrow.