First timer

I was feeling it again, The gloom. Deep, heavy gloom. What a crippling company my old acquaintance is. No light, no energy, no will to live, neither to die. My spirit goes numb, my emotions buried under hundred tonnes of debris. When any hope of finding my way back to sanity feels like just another tasteless joke. The gloom never leaves you alone. You might think you could overcome it, leave it behind, but it always will find a way to get back to you, grab you by the throat with its cold, bony fingers and mess with you like the worthless insect you are. After a whole life of sickness, goddamn shrinks, meds and therapy I know when it is hitting, and what comes next. After so many years of forced therapy I learned that before going to tell my story to some shrink cunt, I can open up to myself, become patient and surgeon at once, get right to the tumour tissue, remove it and throw it in the waste bin . No-one can hear my thoughts, so it feels pretty safe to proceed this way and skip the visit to some sadistic, pompous mofo full of shit and good for nothing. So I went to a bar, ordered one pint of lager and a shot of Bullet and started that inner dialogue that was so much needed. It didn't take me even half a pint to realize that I always knew it. Building that mental bunker around my thoughts had been a good idea at the beginning, but for some time now that watertight compartment in my mind had become too small. Ideas and feelings are not supposed to be buried alive at birth. I could see the gaunt face of a very old man yelling at me "from the slit to the grave hahahaha, what a weak pussy hahah". 
I knew it was the trans girls. Those wonderful creatures made a huge impression on me, and things never ever would be the same. It was like trying to run with a 50 kilo backpack, then running again free of all the extra weight. Women were second choice. The whole bunch. Now I could run free, even fly. Oh, the dick chicks. Horny little demons with a heart of gold and a well trained anus.