What's even worse than
someone having writer's block
someone that complains

The sleet comes down one miniscule piece at a time, just as it was doing this morning as I left for work. Due to the temperature I can no longer differentiate between the smoke I am breathing and steam. In times like these I think of all the professional help that I've had that told me to find inner strength and not to rely on anything else for happiness. I hated all those therapists the most. The only therapist I ever liked was this fifty year old woman who listened to slayer and led a group therapy session in the out patient program I attended. Thinking of that program reminds me of the woman that worked there who got me to believe in God for a few months. I do not remember her name, but I can remember what she looked like and what she sounded like and that 44 ounce mug she always had. She was the nurse at the program, whom I had to see every morning to give a breathalyzer test and every friday for a drug test. When I told her how much Klonopin and alcohol I had taken two weeks prior she said to me, "I'm glad I got a chance to meet you, because God wanted you alive for a reason." I wanted to believe that so badly. She never tried telling what to believe, she was just nice to me every morning as I waited to blow a zero on the test. One conversation with her comes to mind readily.
"So you suffer from depression?"
"Yes."
"It's a bitch ain't it?"