Midnight Whining

I'm becoming bitter and sarcastic in my writing, which means I'm heading towards a place I've been to before, unfortunately, it's also a place where most of my best writing and breakthroughs take place. It's a sick cycle, this whole creative process and it's linkage to horribly depressive states. What can I do? I guess it's just the nature of life. Beauty in death. Appreciation only possible through the fading nature of time. Oh it's all so sad, the passing of sand, the trickling of moments gone by. Happier times always seem like they happened in the past. But it's just not true I tell myself. I have to tell myself. I told myself a while back that I would be my best cheerleader. Pep talks in the middle of the night. Laying awake in bed worrying about this or that would all fade away. Instead I'm not achieving this goal. Instead I'm still basking in the perpetual whining, the abysmal cynicism. Sigh. I want relief as well. I want a positive outlook all the time. But it does get hard. I was cataloged an idealist by a friend and when I think about it, I find I am not. I think I'm a grumpy baby adult. The idealism is my attempt to overcome the harsh realities of life that I yearn for. Because lets be honest, harsh realities are all relative. To me, scratching my new cell phone seems like a significant blip on the radar. Sigh. My psychiatrist says I should not trivialize my feelings, but it's hard when you put my problems up against, babies are dying in Uganda. Or against, some fathers beat their kids when they're angry. Sigh. Sorry doc, but I just can't help myself.