The bottom of the well

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There's a reason that I haven't been on Ajax Rock much lately. I've been down at the bottom of well, figuratively speaking anyway.

It's not a pleasant place to be, but that's what happens when you "stop taking your tablets," as George's Scottish cousin Mary would say. You think you're okay, that you can handle all of the day-to-day problems of life, and then you find yourself slipping down the rabbit hole. That's what happened to me, and now I'm grabbing those rungs and trying to pull myself back up. And the pharmaceuticals, those things I love to hate, seem to be something I've come to need.

I kept asking my dad where he put the bootstraps, the ones I'm supposed to pull myself up with, and he just told me I could find them. When I think about how both Mom and Dad just faced things life threw at them and soldiered on, it reminds me that, genetically at least, I'm made of tough stuff. But sometimes not tough enough. Sometimes you just slip and fall into the well. It's dank and lonely down there, so I'm climbing back out, rung by rung.