An Excerpt of a Quote From a Character of a Book I'm Writing

"To whom this concerns:

There's nothing more disappointing than fake progress.

Honestly, if I could find one thing more disheartening, maybe life wouldn't look so bleak from down here...

But, here I am. Bleaker than ever.

It's when you only think you've made your recovery, when in reality, you're no different than you were yesterday. Or the day before. Or the week before.

When you're finally smelling the roses again after days of mending the tip of your nose after that one time a bee stung you when you stuck your face in the daffodils for a good whiff, and you muster the courage to inhale from afar... only to find out the swelling from your previous injury has permanently damaged communications to the olfactory bulb in your brain because you have some suffer from some terrible evolutionary misstep that causes permanent congestion when exposed to the apitoxin in bee venom.

And I know what you're thinking: "It can't be all bad, right?". 

Well no, it's not all bad. But it's enough bad to make the good feel... well... less good.

Everything is lack luster.                                                                                                 Hazey.

Bleak. 

Small.

And I don't know when, or how, or if I'll feel better soon.

But thank you for your concern."